


Hostage

by Obsessionist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8542777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsessionist/pseuds/Obsessionist
Summary: The armies of Heaven are at a stalemate until Raphael realises what, or rather who, Castiel's weakness is.





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t like this,” Dean grumbled.

 

Sam sighed, shoving yet another useless book aside and reaching for the next. “I know you don’t.” He also knew that there was no point in asking his brother to help with the research; Dean wanted nothing to do with this hunt.

 

"We shouldn't be going behind his back."

 

They'd had this argument a few times now. "We don't have a choice," Sam replied wearily. He gave up on the books, knowing there was nothing more to be learned about their foe in the yellowed pages, and dragged his laptop closer to pull up the latest newsfeeds from around the country. They needed to find a pattern, somewhere, that indicated demon activity.

 

"Yes, we do!" Dean insisted.  "We could choose to trust him. After all this time, after everything he has done for us, he deserves that much."

 

Sam didn't want to point out that betrayal only ever came from people who were trusted. He couldn't fault Dean for his faith in the angel who had rescued him from Hell. It was true; Cas had saved them time and again, going so far as to turn against Heaven and even die for them once or twice. But the fact was, a demon Castiel had supposedly killed before their very eyes was still alive. Crowley was a sneaky, conniving son of a bitch, but he shouldn't have been able to pull a fast one on an angel. His death had been expertly staged, and the only explanation Sam could think of was that Castiel had been in on it.

 

"Look, Dean, I understand where you're coming from, and I don't want to believe that Cas could be working with Crowley any more than you do, but we can't turn a blind eye to this. There is too much at stake."

 

"If we just talk to Cas, ask him what the hell happened, I'm sure he could give us a logical explanation."

 

"Maybe." Although Castiel had played the confusion card before, pleading ignorance of Crowley’s survival, enough time had probably passed now for him to come up with a convincing lie. "But you would believe whatever he told you, truth or not."

 

"What is that supposed to mean?"

 

"Face it, Dean, you have a blind spot where family is concerned." Sam wasn't proud of it, but he himself had exploited this weakness of Dean's in the past. His brother had absolute faith in the people he cared about – the thought that they could lie to or turn against him never crossing his mind – right up until the point when they let him down. And then, even after being hurt and broken, he was always ready to forgive and offer a second, or third, or twentieth chance. "You consider Cas family, don't you?"

 

"Yeah, because he’s _earned_ it. He wouldn't lie to me."

 

"You said it yourself, Cas has been different lately. The civil war is changing him. We don't know what he is capable of anymore."

 

"Not this.  It's _Cas_."

 

Sam had no desire to prove that Castiel had betrayed them. He hoped he was wrong. He didn't want to see what such a horrible breach in trust, from the one person Dean thought he could always count on, would do to his brother. But worse, he feared what the consequences would be if they let this issue slide and found out later, too late, that the angel had gone dark and they had done nothing to stop him.

 

"I hope you're right. I really do. But we have to make sure, and this is the best way to do it. We find a demon, we get them to lead us to Crowley, and when we find him we will be able to learn the truth for ourselves. Either way, Crowley is eliminated, and that can only be a good thing, right?"

 

Dean did not appear cheered by the thought. "I still don't like it."

 

"Dean-"

 

A burst of static erupted from Bobby's radio.

 

Sam stared at it in surprise but Dean tensed, his hand darting into his jacket to close around a weapon.

 

Sam reached out slowly and turned off the transmitter. "What-?"

 

Another mess of white noise sounded from the television set in the next room and a moment later the radio switched itself back on again. The laptop’s screen went blank. Overhead, the lights flickered.

 

A low whine filled the house, gradually building in pitch and intensity until Sam had to clap his hands over his ears. Dean was wincing, but he would not surrender his grip on the angel sword, dropping into a battle stance.

 

"What's going on?" Sam yelled.

 

A single point of bright, white light appeared in the centre of the study. And then another in the corner, and yet another in the doorway. They rapidly expanded, forcing Sam to slam his eyes shut and still the light threatened to sear through his eyelids.

 

The ground beneath his feet started to shake. Window panes rattled.

 

Belatedly, Sam realised what they were dealing with and had a split second to wonder if Castiel had overheard them and taken offence before every glass object in the near vicinity shattered.

 

Sam flung himself to the ground for cover, rolled, and came up wielding a sword of his own.  When he opened his eyes, he registered that Castiel was not one of the attackers, although he could have sent them; they were three angels he didn’t recognise. Dean was already slashing at the one possessing a businessman, ducking away from his outstretched hand and stabbing at his gut only to have him vanish and reappear behind him.

 

Sam launched into the fray, taking a slice out of the businessman’s arm before whirling to clash blades with a harmless-looking teacher. They exchanged a furious flurry of blows. Sam managed to avoid the angel’s touch but was rapidly losing ground, disadvantaged by the teacher’s supernaturally-enhanced strength. Each clash of metal sent a shockwave down his arm and slid him backwards a step. The wall suddenly pressed against his back, denying further retreat; his eyes widened as a fist rocketed towards his face-

 

Then Dean was there, ploughing into the teacher from the side, tackling him to the ground. Sam darted out from the vulnerable position, noting the downed businessman before he found himself under attack from a janitor. He swept the leg, knocking him off balance, ducked around him as he fell and made a stab for his chest. The janitor twisted in mid-air so the sword glanced off the bone of his shoulder. He hit the floor and vanished.

 

As Sam spun to meet the attack he knew would come from behind, a hand gripped his arm tight and twisted in the opposite direction. He couldn’t stop the momentum of his movement – he heard a sickening crack right before the pain struck.

 

Sam cried out, crumpling to his knees. Dean’s gaze shot towards him.

 

It was a fatal moment of distraction. Sam tried to call out a warning but it was too late.

 

The teacher’s palm slapped against Dean’s forehead. In an instant, bright light flared. By the time Sam could see again, the angels were gone. And they had taken Dean with them.

 

ooOOoo

 

Bobby had only been gone for half an hour. They had run out of beer and pie and Dean was already in a mood so Bobby had high-tailed it to the closest store, hoping that John’s eldest would be able to think more clearly with a full stomach and an alcohol-soothed mind.

 

As soon as he pulled up to his home, though, the groceries were forgotten.

 

It looked as though a bomb had gone off. Every single one of his windows had been reduced to a wreckage of shattered glass sprayed out in all directions. His front door was hanging on broken hinges.

 

He didn’t hesitate. Shotgun in one hand and angel sword in the other, Bobby burst into the house.

 

“Sam! Dean!”

 

He was ready to face any threat, from demons to angels and everything in between, but the house was still and eerily silent. The thought occurred to him that he had arrived too late to help and he nearly choked on his fear that he was about to stumble across the dead bodies of his boys.

 

“Dean! Sam!” His tone was more frantic this time. “Answer me, dammit!”

 

“In here, Bobby.”

 

The sound of Sam’s voice punched the breath from his lungs. Nearly woozy with relief, Bobby staggered into the study. “Don’t scare me like that, you idjits, I’m an old man-” He froze, taking in the scene of carnage that his study had become.

 

Shelves were overturned, books were strewn everywhere, the splintered remains of his favourite chair lay beneath his now-three-legged desk and blood was splattered over his carpet. Kneeling in the midst of it all was Sam, shoulders sagging, one arm cradled to his chest, eyes staring fixedly at an empty point in space. Dean was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Sam?” The boy was unresponsive and Bobby began to panic again, the sharp spike of emotion making his words come out more gruffly than he intended. “What the hell happened? Where’s your brother? Was it demons?”

 

Slowly, Sam shook his head. “Angels.”

 

Bobby’s eyes widened. “As in-”

 

“I don’t know,” he said dully. “But they took Dean.”

 

Bobby’s mind whirled. On one hand, if Castiel had taken Dean it was a fairly safe bet that he was okay. Recent suspicious behaviour aside, Bobby did not believe that Cas would ever hurt Dean. But in the same vein, Cas wouldn’t send heavies to abduct him from Bobby’s house and leave a wounded Sam by the wayside. Even so, Bobby irrationally hoped that the nerd angel was responsible for this, because the other option left Dean in a very dangerous position: at the mercy of a merciless archangel. Raphael.

 

“We’ll find him,” Bobby found himself saying. “We’ll get him back. But in the meantime, let me get a look at your arm.”

 

Sam didn’t protest, so Bobby knelt beside him and gingerly drew the limb away from Sam’s chest to get a better look at it. Once he cut away the fabric, revealing a swollen mass of bruised flesh, he let out a low whistle. “That’s a nasty break, son.” He retrieved his First Aid kit and set about setting and bandaging the injury, slightly unnerved by Sam’s lack of reaction. The Winchesters had experienced more than their fair share of pain over the years, but even with Bobby working as gently as he could, this had to hurt. The kid was in shock.

 

“It’s okay, Sam,” Bobby murmured. “Everything is going to be alright. Stay with me boy, Dean’s going to be fine…”

 

Gradually, the haze cleared from Sam’s eyes. He glanced down at his arm as Bobby tied off the last bandage strip, as though noticing the wound for the first time. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

 

“No trouble.” Bobby packed up the med kit and stood, grasping Sam’s good arm to pull him to his feet. “You okay, son?”

 

Sam swayed for a moment but steadied himself. “Yes. We need to find Dean.”

 

“No arguments from me. Where do we start?”

 

A steely look entered Sam’s gaze. “Castiel.”

 

It made sense. An hour ago they had been all set for avoiding the angel as much as possible while they tried to find out how he was involved with Crowley, but now circumstances had forced their hand. “Alright. Do you want to make the call, or…?”

 

“No. I’m not going to give him the option of ignoring us.”

 

It felt wrong and distinctly uncomfortable to be so distrustful of the angel who had fought alongside them more times than Bobby could count. Unfortunately, they had good reason to be suspicious; even more so now.

 

“A summoning spell it is, then,” Bobby said. He retrieved the ingredients from various cupboards and drawers, then grabbed a jug of holy oil for good measure. They took the operation outside to spare the carpet – not that it wasn’t a write-off already, but Bobby would rather not see his house go up in flames – and lay down a precautionary circle of oil before lighting the spell.

Within a minute, the trademark rustle of wings announced the angel’s arrival.

 

“Why have you summoned me?” Castiel asked, frowning at the remnants of their spell work. “A simple prayer would have sufficed.”

 

“I wasn’t taking any chances.”

 

Castiel tilted his head, regarding Sam with a thoughtful gaze. “You are angry,” he observed.

 

“Yeah, damn right I’m angry,” Sam snapped. “What the hell are you and your angel buddies playing at?”

 

Castiel donned his ever-familiar expression of bemusement. “I do not understand.”

 

“Three angels just turned up out of nowhere and attacked us! They busted up Bobby’s house and my arm, and they _took Dean._ ”

 

 Castiel stiffened. “What?”

 

“Dean is _gone_.”

 

Blue eyes darted around, as though searching the scrap yard for the man in question, and when they returned to Sam’s face they looked to be edged with worry. “When? How?”

 

“You tell me,” Sam snarled. “Are you behind this? Did you send those bastards to take my brother?”

 

Castiel was stunned. “Wh- How could you think that?”

 

“The game is up, Castiel. We know you burned the wrong bones. We know you’re working with Crowley.”

 

For a moment his lips parted in an ‘O’ of surprise, but he quickly covered with an air of amused disbelief. “That is absurd, Sam. I was just as shocked as you to find out that Crowley is alive-”

 

“Don’t bother.” Disdain dripped from his words. “Right now I could care less that you climbed into bed with the Devil. I just want my brother back.”

 

“I did not take Dean!” Castiel insisted. “Why would I?”

 

“To stop us looking into you. To keep us distracted while you do whatever it is you’re planning so that we don’t stop you.”

 

“I am not planning anything-”

 

“ _Don’t_ lie to me!” Sam yelled. “Give me back my brother!”

 

“I do not have him!”

 

“I don’t believe you!”

 

Bobby saw it then; the crazed look in Sam’s eyes that was a volatile combination of fury, desperation and terror. It was the Winchester equivalent of extreme separation anxiety and it always came out when one of the brothers was hurt, missing or dead. It was a sign that Sam was willing to do or kill anything to get Dean back, and it was scary as hell.

 

“If you didn’t take him, Castiel, then who did?” Bobby asked quickly.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Sam’s face turned red and his fist clenched so tightly that his knuckles whitened. “Not good enough.”

 

Castiel made a frustrated sound. “Then give me something to go on! Can you describe the attackers?”

 

“The vessels were a businessman, a teacher and a janitor,” Sam revealed grudgingly.

 

“None of my soldiers have taken those forms,” Cas said. “They must be followers of Raphael.”

 

Bobby’s heart sunk into his shoes as his worst fears were realised. “Raphael,” he echoed.

 

“What would Raphael want with my brother?”

 

“I do not…” Castiel trailed off, horror and dread dawning on his features. His next word was barely a whisper. “No.”

 

“What?”

 

“It can’t be. Raphael has no comprehension of human emotion, he could not… he would not think to…”

 

Seeing the angel’s abject distress made the pieces of the puzzle slot into place. “He’s using Dean against you,” Bobby breathed.

 

It made horrible, awful sense. For the civil war to have raged for so long, Castiel must have somehow become equal in power to an archangel. Neither side seemed able to defeat the other; they were evenly matched and trapped in a stalemate even as angels continued to die in the battle. But, strong as he was, Castiel did have a weakness. Dean.

 

Once, Dean had just been an assignment, a soul to be rescued from Hell on Heaven’s orders. Castiel had become his guardian and, somewhere along the line, he had become his friend. That the angel cared deeply about Dean was as clear as day – almost everything Cas did seemed founded upon the desire to please or protect Dean, and events had shown just how far he was willing to go on his behalf. He had died for Dean twice. He had Fallen for him.

 

Castiel might be an angel, stubbornly immortal in that he refused to stay dead, the leader of a fierce army and a formidable warrior himself, but Dean was mortal. Dean could die. Dean was vulnerable… and now the enemy had him.

 

“They are holding him hostage to – to stop me,” Cas stammered.

 

“So this _is_ your fault,” Sam said.

 

“Sam…”

 

“No, Bobby, don’t defend him! He put my brother in danger!”

 

“That was not my intention. I did not realise-”

 

“I don’t care! This is the apocalypse all over again – you dicks can’t settle a family squabble and instead of fighting it out between yourselves you drag Dean right back into your mess. Why couldn’t you just leave us the hell out of it? What did we ever do to deserve having our lives dicked with like this?”

 

“Sam, I am sorry-”

 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it! Raphael has abducted my brother to do god knows what to him and it is all because of you! If he hurts Dean…”

 

“I will not let that happen,” Castiel promised. “Sam, I swear to you, I will find him before Raphael can lay so much as a finger on him.”

 

Sam glared daggers. “You better.”

 

Instead of answering, Castiel disappeared in a flurry of wings.

 

ooOOoo


	2. Chapter 2

_"RAPHAEL.”_

 

Castiel’s voice thundered through the Heavens. Lesser angels trembled in the wake of his wrath, but the sole remaining archangel merely smirked and settled back in Ken Lay’s chair to wait.

 

The call rang out again. _“RAPHAEL!”_

 

It was a challenge, a summons, a war cry, and it demanded a response. But Raphael would not pander to the whims of a low-tier seraph suffering from delusions of grandeur. Castiel needed to learn his place, and this is where it would begin. Raphael would not go to him, like a dog responding to the whistle of his master. No, it would be Castiel who would cave first and seek _him_ out. It was only a matter of time.

 

Like a human teenager throwing a hormone-fuelled tantrum, Castiel made an ostentatious entrance. He used his Grace to cause the doors to burst open and crash back against the walls as he strode in dramatically, clearly trying to give off a ‘Righteous Fury’ vibe to rival the stories of old. He fell dismally short of the mark, however, and instead of feeling intimidated, Raphael was tempted to laugh.

 

“Little brother,” he greeted cordially, as though they were not at war, and as though the angel standing before him was not the leader of the rag-tag team of misfits and outcasts who were trying in vain to oppose his rightful and inevitable rule. “What can I do for you?”

 

“Where is Dean Winchester?” the seraph growled.

 

Triumph. Sweet, sweet triumph. This war was as good as won.

 

“Who?” Raphael returned, a smile playing at his vessel’s lips.

 

“You know who he is.”

 

Raphael pretended to think it over. “Oh yes… the mutated fish with an overinflated sense of his own importance. Your beloved pet. Or – I am not entirely clear on the nature of your relationship – are you _his_ pet? You certainly follow him around like one.”

 

Castiel slammed his palms down on the desk between them, leaning in menacingly. “Where. Is. He?”

 

Raphael shrugged. “Why should I be aware of his whereabouts? Perhaps once he had a great destiny, but now he is nought but an uninhabited vessel. With Michael locked in the cage indefinitely, Dean Winchester is worthless. What reason have I to keep track of his location? I have more pressing concerns.”

 

“Do not attempt to deceive me, Raphael. Dean Winchester was taken on your orders. I demand to know where you are keeping him.”

 

“You demand?” The audacity of this seraph knew no bounds. “Castiel, you are no position to be making demands. You see, you have no means by which to force my compliance.” Raphael stood to the full height of his vessel and looked down upon Castiel. “I am, however, at no such disadvantage. And so it is I who shall be giving the orders. Surrender, Castiel. Bow down before me and swear your allegiance.”

 

“No.”

 

“Do not answer in such haste, little brother. You do not yet understand the consequences of your refusal.”

 

“You cannot do anything to me.”

 

“Perhaps not.” Raphael did not know where Castiel had gained his power, but until he discovered the source he would have to settle for exploiting his weakness. “But there is nothing I cannot do to Dean… now that I have him.”

 

Oh, the wait had been well worth it. The sudden fear in those blue eyes was delectable, as was the poorly disguised tremble in his voice when he asked, “Where is he?”

 

“Somewhere you will never find him, I assure you. Search all you like, Castiel, but only your submission and obedience to me will give you even the slimmest hope of seeing Dean again. I hold the power of life and death over your human, but the choice is yours. So what say you, Castiel? Will you kill Dean Winchester? Or will you save him?”

 

“If… if you kill him, you will lose your leverage,” Castiel said hoarsely.

 

“Will I? I could move onto other humans you have befriended. Samuel Winchester? Robert Singer? Those two and more; hundreds, thousands of humans – I will slaughter them one by one until you yield.”

 

“And your apocalypse will massacre billions if I do. I will not back down with the world at stake, Raphael. If I did, Dean would… kick my ass.” He straightened, features set hard with determination even as his eyes filled with pre-emptive grief. “My answer is no.”

 

Raphael could not say he was surprised. Castiel was a hardened warrior; he knew the meaning of sacrifice. He knew also that death was not the terrible fate humans feared it to be when Heaven was their final destination. Dean’s death was not enough incentive for Castiel to give up on his crusade.

 

“I am confident that, given time, you will change your mind,” Raphael said. “After all, as the humans say, there are fates worse than death. And I will visit each and every one of them upon Dean Winchester until he begs me to kill him… or until you swear fealty unto me.”

 

“That will never happen.”

 

But there was a crack in his voice.

 

Raphael smiled. “We shall see.”

 

ooOOoo

 

For three days and three nights, Castiel scoured the globe. He searched everywhere, high and low, inside and out. He ordered his soldiers to search. He ordered Crowley and his demons to search. He devoted all of his strength, energy and resources to the hunt, forsaking everything else.

 

Nothing.

 

No word, no sign, no sight or whisper of him. It was as though Dean had vanished off the face of the Earth.

 

When the fourth day dawned and he made ready to begin the search anew, Castiel’s lieutenant pulled him aside.

 

“Castiel, we are at war,” Mattathias reminded him sternly. “We cannot afford this distraction.”

 

“It is Dean,” Cas argued.

 

“Yes, and I know what he means to you-”

 

Castiel doubted that. He was trying to teach them, but the angels struggled enough trying to grasp the concept of free will. Emotions seemed beyond them.

 

“-but you doomed him when you refused to bow before Raphael. You made your choice, Castiel, and it was the right one. If Dean is half the man you say he is, I am sure he would agree with me. However, if you continue this fruitless search, abandoning your Holy mission, you might as well hand victory to our enemy and Dean’s death will have been in vain.”

 

“He _is not dead_.”

 

Mattathias placed a hand on his shoulder; copying human mannerisms in an attempt to express sympathy. “I am sorry, brother, but you must accept that he is and move on.”

 

Castiel shoved the hand away. “No.”

 

“Fight in his name. I am sure that is what he would want.”

 

“He would want me to save him.”

 

“Not at the expense of his world and all the people it contains. I think you know that.”

 

And he did. But inasmuch as he knew that Dean would willingly give his life for the cause, Castiel could not bear the thought of just standing back and letting him die.

 

“I cannot abandon him. I will reduce the time I devote to the search,” and every minute he spent ignoring Dean’s plight would be pure anguish, “but I refuse to give up on him because he _is not dead_. Do you understand me?”

 

Mattathias backed away, inclining his head respectfully. “Yes, Castiel.”

 

“Good. Gather our forces; we re-enter the battlefield in one hour.”

 

“Why the delay?”

 

“There is something I must do.”

 

Without waiting for a reply, Castiel flared his wings and launched into the air, plummeting towards a small house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

 

“-don’t tell me to calm down, Bobby, my brother has been missing for three days and there has been no word from-”

 

“Cas!” Bobby exclaimed, catching sight of the angel standing behind Sam’s shoulder.

 

Sam whirled to face him, fury flashing in his eyes. “About damn time! What took you so long?” He looked around and past Castiel, expectantly. “Where’s Dean?”

 

Cas swallowed nervously. There was no easy way to break the news to the younger Winchester. Castiel liked to think that he shared a profound bond with Dean, but it paled in comparison to the ferocity of the relationship between the two brothers. “Sam…”

 

Sam stiffened. “No. Don’t say it.”

 

“I tried. I searched everywhere.”

 

He backed away, shaking his head in denial. “I don’t want to hear this.”

 

“I am sorry, Sam. I have confirmation that it was indeed Raphael who took Dean, and his plans for your brother are… unpleasant… but, although I have made every effort to locate him, I am afraid Raphael has hidden him too well.”

 

“You didn’t find him,” Bobby surmised. There was a dull quality to his tone, as though he had experienced too much loss in his life to be able to cope with this as well.

 

Castiel was destroying them. His adoptive family, and he was tearing them apart.

 

“I could not,” he said helplessly. “I am sorry. I will not stop looking. Whenever I have the chance, I promise I will continue the search-”

 

“Oh, right, whenever it is _convenient_ ,” Sam hissed. “We are terribly sorry to _bother_ you, Castiel, it is only _Dean’s life_ we are talking about. Please don’t put yourself out on his account.”

 

“It – it is not like that. I care about Dean, more than I have ever cared for anyone, but billions of lives are at stake-”

 

“No, no, we understand completely, don’t we Bobby? In the grand scheme of things Dean is expendable, we get it. Forgive us for presuming he meant something to you. I guess we’re the only idiots who think he is important.”

 

Castiel was torn. “He is-”

 

“Stow it, Cas,” Sam snapped. “You want to get back to your civil war so bad? Then _go._ Get the hell out of here. And unless you are bringing my brother home safe and sound, don’t even think about coming back.”

 

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, anything, wishing he knew words that could express how devastated he was to have to make this decision.

 

Sam gave an inarticulate yell of rage and grief, snatching an empty beer bottle from the table and hurling it at the angel with all the strength he could muster. Cas vanished before the projectile could find its mark, but he hesitated to return to Heaven. Cloaked from human perception, he flitted back into Bobby’s home in time to see the bottle smash against the wall.

 

Sam glared at the empty spot where Cas had been standing only seconds ago, but, like a marionette with its strings cut, the potent fury abruptly left him and he crumpled to the floor.

 

Bobby rushed to his side and pulled the boy roughly into his arms. “It’s okay, Sam. We’ll figure something out. We’ll find him.”

 

“D-dean,” Sam choked out. “Dean…”

 

Bobby’s face twisted with pain and he turned his face away so Sam would not see the moisture in his eyes. “I know, son,” he whispered. “I know.”

 

Heart heavy with grief and guilt, Castiel silently withdrew.

 

ooOOoo


	3. Chapter 3

Weightless, he floated in a white void. Time was fluid, or motionless, passing in instants and eons while remaining still.

 

There was nothing. He was nothing. Emptiness surrounded him and consumed him.

 

Thoughts formed slowly, rising in his mind before drifting away on a non-existent breeze. The intangible concept of identity ebbed and flowed like the tide. Sometimes, he knew who he was. Other times, he knew he was no one.

 

There was peace, here. Wherever here was. He did not know, and he was untroubled by his ignorance.

 

Fragments of memories bobbed past him, riding an invisible current into the ether. Once or twice, curious as a child, he grasped at them.

 

The flood of images assaulted his mind. His gut clenched as sickening waves of reality crashed over him. In those moments he knew fear and became aware of the terrible danger he was in.

 

But then it would become too much. He would recoil, and let go.

 

He floated mindlessly. Blissfully. Unharmed, harming no one. Tranquil.

 

Until out of the void, or perhaps from beyond it, there came a hand with lacquered nails, reaching for him. Tension roiled through his body, reminding him he had a body just as the hand closed around his throat.

 

There was no such thing as air, but suddenly he needed it.

 

The instinct to fight came clawing up from deep within. He kicked and struggled, scrabbling at his neck to loosen the unrelenting grip that was choking him, dragging him like a fly through treacle. He was powerless.

 

The unending white that stretched forever in every direction began to recede. Greys entered the world. Black next. Tainting streaks of colour that painted four stone walls in close quarters around him. The hand continued to pull and then he was turned and pushed back against a shockingly solid surface. Fingers withdrew to be replaced by the slither of cold metal encircling his neck. His hands were raised and pinned above his head, manacles snicking into place around his wrists. He tried to kick out against his unseen attacker, only to find that his ankles were similarly restrained.

 

He was trapped. A fly in a spider’s web.

 

The spider materialised in front of him, but rather than a creature with eight legs, it was a woman clad in impeccable business attire.

 

Not a woman. Raphael.

 

Dean snapped back into his mind like a rubber-band on rebound. He remembered that he had been taken captive by angels and he realised that, this time, he was in real trouble.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

She – he – was staring at him with the same intensity Dean was accustomed to receiving from Castiel, but there was a smirk twitching at the corner of her lips and the way her gaze swept over his body made his flesh crawl.

 

He hated to be vulnerable. Chained to a wall in a spread-eagled position with no weapon in hand and no clue where he was, he had never been more so.

 

Except once. In Hell. On the rack.

 

He jerked his mind away from the lock-box of forbidden memories and focused on the matter at hand.

 

“Raphael. I haven’t seen you since you were running away from Cas and his new collection of super-weapons with your tail tucked between your yellow-stained legs.”

 

She leaned in, peering into his eyes. “You do not sound afraid.”

 

“Sorry, pal, but you are not enough to scare me.”

 

“No? I think you should reassess my threat level. I have you alone here, where no one will find you or even think to look.”

 

“And where is, here, exactly?”

 

Raphael smiled, but did not answer. “No one is coming to save you, Dean Winchester. I have you completely at my mercy. And if you think you have known pain at the hands of others in the past, I promise you, you will believe otherwise before I am done.”

 

“No offence, lady, but I have been tortured by the best Hell had to offer, and somehow I don’t think you’ll measure up.”

 

“You mean Alastair?” Her laugh was pure malice. “He was an unimaginative, uninspired little whelp. He did not have the tremendous power that I do, and his only motive to hurt you was that it was his job to do so. But I _want_ to hurt you, Dean Winchester. I want to see you suffer. You made the fatal mistake of crossing me and, worse, fraternising with my enemy. You will be made to pay in the most creative, exquisitely _painful_ ways possible.”

 

Dean layered his voice thick with sarcasm. “I’m trembling in my boots.”

 

“Not yet,” Raphael said. She leaned in so close that he could feel her breath ghosting over his skin, and whispered into his ear, “But you will be.”

 

With those words, the archangel vanished, leaving him alone in the tiny cell.

 

Dean shuddered.

 

ooOOoo

 

Castiel was engaged in a fierce battle when the call came through.

 

The ground beneath his feet was soaked with the blood of his brethren, the grass scorched by the shadows of their wings. Shredded vessels were strewn across the field, vacant eyes staring in silent judgement as angels fought and the carnage multiplied.

 

The ultimate destructive force, Castiel cut a bloody swath through the ranks of his enemy. His sword was an extension of his body, practically fused to his hand after days of endless combat. Light glinted off the razor-sharp edge as it arced through the air. Droplets of ruby splattered in its wake.

 

He was single-minded in his purpose and ruthless in its execution. Dozens fell before him. While every death of a brother or sister was a wound that could never heal, he did not hesitate, and he would not relent. Any scant inch of ground they gained was crucial; every one they lost brought the Earth one step closer to annihilation.

 

He parried, slashed, blocked and stabbed, moved forward, slashed again.

 

In the instant before his blade would have separated the head of Raphael’s second-in-command from his shoulders, Castiel froze at the sound of a voice he never thought he would hear again.

 

_Cas?_

His focus hurtled inwards, seizing the faint prayer line and amplifying it tenfold.

 

_Cas, it’s Dean. You got your ears on? I-_

“Castiel, watch out!”

 

A body slammed into him, knocking him out of the way a split second before his skull would have been cloven in two. He had barely hit the ground before he was being dragged to his feet again, the concerned face of Mattathias appearing suddenly in his vision. “What is wrong with you, Castiel? You cannot zone out like that in the middle of a battle; you are going to get yourself killed!”

 

Before Castiel could reply, his lieutenant roughly shoved him aside and plunged his sword deep into the chest of an enemy soldier who had come out of nowhere.

 

The sights and sounds and blood of war swirled around him, overwhelming and disorienting. He scrambled to make sense of it, even as Dean’s prayer tugged on his mind.

 

_-think I’m in deep shit this time, Cas-_

“Snap out of it, Castiel! We need our leader!”

 

His army was taking up formation around him, defending him, fending off attacks that would have taken advantage of his distraction. He was humbled by their loyalty and knew they were counting on him-

 

_-need your help-_

They were being pushed back, losing any progress they had made.

 

_-don’t think I can make it out of this one my own-_

His soldiers were bleeding, dying.

 

_Please, Cas._

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I have to go.”

 

Ignoring the expressions of stunned disbelief on the faces around him, Castiel spread his wings wide and launched into the sky.

_“_ Retreat!” Mattathias yelled.

 

Castiel felt a pang of regret, but pressed resolutely onward.

 

It was not until it was already too late to turn back that he realised – he could hear Dean, but he could not follow the prayer line back to his location. The connection was distorted, bouncing him across the globe without granting him a definitive fix on Dean’s whereabouts.

 

He banked sharply, coming to an abrupt halt on the highest peak of the Himalayan Mountains. He cast his senses far and wide, touching, for a fraction of an instant, the minds and souls of every creature and human on the face of the planet, seeking the one he knew more intimately than any other.

 

His search turned up nothing. Dean remained beyond his reach.

 

Frustration bubbled up within him, molten lava exceeding boiling point within his veins until it found physical manifestation in the most devastating avalanche the world had ever seen, set into motion by a shriek that threatened to tear apart the very fabric of reality.

 

_“DEAN!”_

 

ooOOoo  


Time had no meaning here.

 

In Hell, Dean had been excruciatingly aware of every second that passed. The days of torture were as regular as clockwork. The beginning of the pain was the sun that rose, blood blooming across his skin like the first colours of a dawn sky. The zenith was reached when the heat was most intense, burning him away to cinders and ash until there was nothing left. The sun would set as he was made whole again, piece by agonising piece, injuries slipping away like fading rays of light. Alastair’s offer was the last thing he would hear before total darkness fell. And then it would start all over again.

 

Here it was different. The silence would last years, or hours, or months, or moments. He would be left in isolation, trapped and confined in a cell with no windows or doors for all of eternity, but within seconds Raphael would appear.

 

With no concept of time, Dean was unable to predict when the pain would return. The tense anticipation, the fear – they were worse, so much worse, than anything Hell had managed to do to him. But, somehow, his tormentor would only come in the hesitant moment when he dared to relax his guard. Then the torture would be swift, brutal, and his screams would reverberate through the tiny cell until they echoed within his skull and made him wonder whether the sound had only ever existed in his mind after all.

 

By all rights, he should have drowned in a pool of his own blood by now. He should be nothing but a pile of shredded flesh and shattered bone and bits of exploded brain matter. But in the impossible moments when he was able to force his eyes open and look down at himself, he saw a body that was whole and unmarked. There was no trace of the terrible wounds he could feel the archangel inflicting upon him. It was as though the torture was not real, like he was trapped in a bizarre game of make-believe.

 

But the pain he felt, the sheer _agony,_ could not be imagined. It was incomprehensible, beyond compare, all-encompassing, all-consuming… and never-ending in the place that time forgot.

 

If he could, if it were possible, he would pray to Cas every night. It would be a ritual composed partly of hope, primarily of desperation, and it would be an attempt to retain some small degree of sanity. As it was, with no natural cycle of days and nights to be his guide, he might have prayed less than he meant to. He might have prayed more.

 

_Castiel. Testing, testing, one, two, three. Come in Castiel._

_Cas. Castiel! What the hell, man; is there something wrong with angel radio? Can’t you hear me?_

_Cas, I need you to hear me._

_Castiel who art in heaven, I’m sure you’re very busy, but do you think you could spare a damn minute to listen to me?_

_Cas, I’m not usually one to beg, but I really need your help._

_C’mon, Cas, you’ve never let me down before. I believe in you._

_You’re coming for me soon, right, Cas? As soon as you can?_

_Please tell me you are fighting your way to get to me. Laying siege to – well, wherever the hell I am. I don’t know. I hope you know._

_Still waiting for a rescue, man. But I know you haven’t forgotten about me._

_Cas? Have you forgotten about me?_

_Cas, I’m rotting down here. Please come get me._

_I can’t do this. I’m trying to be strong, but… It hurts, Cas. It hurts._

_Are you… mad at me? Is this punishment for doubting you? I get it, man, angels make mistakes too. So you burned the wrong bones, so what? It doesn’t mean you’re working with Crowley. I shouldn’t have listened to Sam and Bobby; I should have gone with my gut and trusted you. I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry, Cas._

_Okay, I’ve had enough; I’ve learned my lesson. Forgive and forget, right, Cas?_

_Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…_

_Cas, please._

_Oh god, it hurts. I can’t – I can’t – oh god, PLEASE. Please._

_I’ll do anything._

_Cas, it isn’t true, is it? Don’t let it be true. I don’t want it to be true. Tell me you haven’t gone dark side. Tell me there is still some good inside you._

_So Sam was right about you, after all. You_ have _turned dark. I hope he is hunting you, you son of a bitch. I would hunt you myself, if I could._

_You evil BASTARD, Castiel. How could you leave me here?_

_When I get out of here, I’m coming to kill you._

_It just doesn’t stop. It never stops. Hell wasn’t hell, Cas. This is hell._

_I’m so tired._

_Is Sam okay? And Bobby? You’re looking out for them, right? I know I am never getting out of here, but if you ever cared about me even a little, will you do this one thing for me? Keep my brother safe?_

_Cas? You still there?_

_I don’t even know if you are hearing me, man… Maybe I’ve gone crazy. Maybe all this time I’ve just been talking to myself._

_I wish I could die. Raphael won’t let me._

_I miss you, Cas._

_I’m burning away. I can feel it. I don’t think there is much more that Raphael can take from me. But if there is, he’ll find it._

_Cas? Cas is short for – Cast- Cas- It’s a name. Isn’t it? Not my name, though, not mine, that’s silly, because my name is- is- What is my name? Do I have one?_

_Cas, she’s hurting me. Burning and ripping and cutting and tearing, and it_ hurts. _She’s bleeding me dry, but I’m not bleeding, but I am bleeding. So much blood. It hurts, Cas, it hurts._

_Making it stop hurting. Please, Cas._

_Cas?_

_Cas?_

_Cas._

_Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas._

_Cas…_

ooOOoo


	4. Chapter 4

The wall was painted with a spell, drawn in the mixed blood of a monster and a virgin. A motionless figure stood before it, as cold and hard and unfeeling as a marble statue.

 

A cough from behind him broke the silence. “What, no grand words, no dramatic speech? Not even an attempt to double-cross me or back out of our deal? You’re no fun anymore, Castiel.”

 

He did not even spare the demon a glance. “Complete the ritual.”

“The eclipse doesn’t start for a few minutes, sweetheart; we have time for a chat.”

 

The angel did not respond, staring resolutely at the wall as though he could see what lay beyond it.

 

“Oh, come on darling, I feel like we never _talk_ anymore.”

 

It was evident that Crowley enjoyed bantering as the humans did, but Castiel no longer had the patience for it. “There is nothing to talk about. Once the spell is done, we part ways.”

 

“That’s it? After all we’ve been through together? You wound me, Castiel.”

 

The demon grew ever more tiresome. This partnership could not reach its conclusion soon enough. “If I intended to cause you injury, I would have done so.”

 

“It is not my body, but my heart that is aggrieved,” he sighed dramatically. The demon was enjoying himself; Castiel could hear the amusement in his voice. “I thought we had something special. But all this time we’ve been together, you have been pining for another, haven’t you?”

 

He missed the silence. It was unfortunate that Crowley would need his tongue to read the spell aloud, because Castiel was sorely tempted to remove it.

 

Crowley tutted, shaking his head. “Heartsick over Dean Winchester. It really is the epitome of pathetic, you know. It has been months already. Time to move on, lover boy.”

 

His voice was a low growl, threatening in every syllable. “Do not presume to tell me what to do.”

 

“Hey, just giving you some friendly advice. Heaven’s new God will be in no fit state to rule if he is heartbroken over one little human… Oh, no. This isn’t – it’s not _about_ Dean, is it? Please tell me you’re not doing this for him.”

 

“I have no need to justify my actions to you.”

 

“Whatever happened to fixing your home? Becoming the new Sherriff in town? You’re not going to give all that up for this hopeless little crusade of yours, are you?”

 

“The eclipse is beginning, Crowley. Read the spell.”

 

“You don’t even know if he is alive.”

 

The prayers had stopped three days ago. But Castiel refused to give up, not after so long, not after coming this far.

 

“Read the spell.”

 

Crowley huffed. “Fine. _Iagnua magna Purgatorii_ …”

 

Castiel was only half-listening to the chant that would open the doorway. He wondered if this would be the moment. When he had determined that Dean was nowhere on Earth, and Crowley had assured him that Dean was not in Hell, he had considered the possibility that the hunter had, somehow, been sent to Purgatory. If so, this spell would pull Dean’s soul out and into himself. From there, Castiel would be able to remake him for the second time and Dean would be returned to them at long last.

 

If it turned out that Dean was not in Purgatory, however, at least Castiel would be imbued with such power that nothing and no one would be able to stand in his way. Castiel _would_ find him, and he would bring him home.

 

Crowley’s voice increased in volume and passion as he reached the crescendo of the spell. “… _ianua magna aperta tandem!”_

 

The ground began to shake and the wall started to collapse in on itself. The opening of the Great Doorway was a sight to behold and Crowley stared in awe; Castiel, however, tried to peer into the abyss of eternal darkness, searching for one soul, one man in particular.

 

There was a roar of rushing wind. A pinprick of light appeared in the distance but it hurtled rapidly towards them, growing larger – a twisting, writhing tornado of souls. As one, Castiel and Crowley gasped, and the souls tore into them.

 

It was a continuous stream of light, filling every cavity of their beings to utter capacity and still demanding more room, pushing and straining and expanding, so many, so much that they could barely contain the power. Crowley began to scream, almost ripping apart under the pressure.

 

Castiel grunted, curling his wings around his vessel, refusing to let even one soul escape his grasp. He wrenched them into submission, squeezing, compressing them together, swallowing more until all of Purgatory was emptied and the gateway suddenly slammed shut.

 

Crowley collapsed to the floor.

 

Castiel staggered, but drew himself tall. His Grace encompassed all the souls within him, drawing on their energy to magnify his power one thousand times over. An explosion of light from his being siphoned off the nuclear excess and then he was in control.

 

He did not stop to savour the incredible rush of power, or to revel in the knowledge that he had just become the most powerful being in the universe.

 

He took in a deep breath, turned his focus inwards and dove into the tempest.

 

Still no Dean.

 

Crowley was trying to clamber to his feet, but Castiel shoved a hand against his chest, pinning him to the floor. “Let me see,” he growled. He skimmed over the souls of monsters, brushing against a presence so old and so evil that his senses recoiled, and touched every once-human creature Crowley now contained, seeking, seeking.

 

No Dean.

 

On his way out, he encountered the walls that the demon was frantically building to keep his supply of souls in. Because he was neither foolish nor evil and he knew that a super-powered King of Hell was too dangerous to be permitted, Castiel obliterated the walls and withdrew.

 

He did not stay to watch as the demon was destroyed by the forces warring within him and chose not to regret the loss as the harvested souls died anew and fled back to Purgatory. He still had a few million and they would be enough for his purposes.

 

Not bothering with any dramatic fanfare, Castiel ascended to Heaven.

 

“Raphael,” he said calmly.

 

Immediately, the archangel appeared before him, looking startled to have done so. But he could no more have resisted Castiel’s mild call than he could have resisted a summoning spell.

 

Once, Raphael had been an angel Castiel greatly admired. After his first death, Castiel had feared him. When Raphael had expressed his intention to re-start the apocalypse, he had earned Castiel’s fury. Taking Dean had been the action that made Castiel hate and despise Raphael over all other creatures in creation.

 

But now he felt nothing towards his brother. Raphael was merely an obstacle in his path and he would be eliminated. “Raphael. I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

 

The expression on Raphael’s face as he looked Castiel over was a mixture of surprise, curiosity and dread. “You…” he exhaled finally, “are _different_. What have you done, Castiel?”

 

“What I needed to.”

 

Out of the periphery of his vision, Castiel saw more angels appearing on the field; Raphael’s followers, responding to a silent call to arms. As though they could stand against him now.

 

“I have become God,” he said. “Or, at least, the closest thing to God that Heaven has known in millennia.”

 

“That is impossible.”

 

Castiel allowed his new powers to expand and manifest, almost blinding the Heavenly Host with a bright flash of light. When it receded he said, “Apparently not.”

 

For the first time, Raphael appeared intimidated. He backed away a step. “How-?”

 

“I will be the one asking the questions, Raphael.” He moved forward, into Raphael’s space, and pinned him in place with a glare from intense blue eyes. “Where. Is. Dean. Winchester?”

 

Raphael swallowed nervously. But then, a haughty defiance rose in his eyes. “Dead,” he spat.

 

In a lightning-fast movement, Castiel’s hand closed around the archangel’s throat. “I advise you to rethink your answer,” he warned, “or your death is assured. And I promise you, it will be slow and painful.” He tightened his grip, and at the same time his power constricted around Raphael’s Grace, choking him.

 

“Wait,” Raphael gasped. “Castiel, wait. The human is alive, I swear it.”

 

He did not allow himself to feel relieved; not yet. “Where is he?”

 

“In Limbo. The void between the worlds.”

 

Castiel had not known that Limbo existed, believing it to be a concept invented by humans, but he knew now why he had been unable to locate Dean’s soul. He filed away the information for later use.

 

“Bring him here.”

 

Ignoring the command, Raphael lifted a hand in entreaty, grasping at the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat as he pleaded, “Spare me.”

 

“ _Bring him here,_ ” Castiel snarled, barely restraining himself from snapping the archangel’s neck.

 

“Of course, of course, Father. Right away.” He snapped his fingers, and a bolt of white lightning slashed across the sky, depositing an unconscious figure on the ground where it struck.

 

Dean.

 

After all this time, after all of Castiel’s frantic searching, after Dean’s prayers had broken him down and torn his heart to pieces, after he had all but given up hope… Dean was _here._

 

The flood of relief and pure _joy_ Castiel felt at the sight of the man he had feared he would never see again nearly staggered him. And the fact that Dean did not bear the horrific scars of torture he’d expected was almost too good to be true.

 

He recalled how Dean’s prayers had mutated into screams of agony, and he realised it _couldn’t_ be true. Dean had been held captive for months, or possibly even longer depending on how time passed in Limbo. There was no way he had escaped unscathed.

 

Filled with trepidation, Castiel reached out towards Dean with his heightened powers, slipping beneath the surface to see what lay at his core.

 

Of all the human souls in existence, Castiel had always believed Dean’s to be the most beautiful. It was flawed, shadowed and scarred, but it still shone with all the intensity he brought to life itself and even a mere glimpse of its radiant splendour was enough to fill Castiel with awe.

 

But what he saw now sickened him.

 

Dean’s soul was raw. Battered. Bleeding.

 

Something had hacked and ripped and slashed at everything Dean was until his magnificent light was reduced to the feeble flicker of a struggling candle flame. He had been damaged, desecrated, defiled – and for what? All of this madness, the war and the fighting, the death and the destruction, boiled down to a petty feud between brothers who squabbled because Daddy wasn’t home. It was a matter that should have been disputed among the angels; the humans had no part in this fight.

 

But Dean had been caught in the crossfire, targeted for being someone Castiel cared about. Every wound that had been inflicted upon him and every scream that was torn from his throat was meant for Castiel, to upset and distract and torment him.

 

Dean had been innocent, and Raphael had destroyed him.

 

Castiel’s gaze flashed back to the archangel he still had gripped by the throat. He had not thought he had the capacity for a rage greater than that he had felt when Dean was captured. He had been wrong. Now he saw red. All control and restraint fled from him. Every pulse of blood in his ears was a demand for retribution. “You did this,” he snarled. With every syllable he uttered, the ground cracked, the skies darkened, and the angels cowered in fear. “You tortured Dean’s _soul_. He was everything that is right and good in the world that our Father created and you _broke_ him.”

 

“I didn’t- I don’t-” Raphael gasped, but before he could offer up denials, excuses or apologies, Castiel crushed his windpipe.

 

“You are dead to me, _brother_.”

 

All it took was the barest flicker of a thought.

 

Raphael exploded.

 

Blood and entrails splattered everywhere. Castiel’s suit and trench coat were liberally coated in gore, as were a few other angels who had been standing within radius.

 

“Behold,” Castiel said, absently pulling a globule of flesh from his hair. “The Wrath of God.”

 

What followed was a cleansing of Heaven. The filth and corruption and taint of Raphael’s influence were washed away in the blood of his followers. For their complicity in Dean’s abuse, Castiel should have torn off their wings and let them die slowly, but he was a merciful God. Their deaths were swift.

 

To the others, he commanded, “Go. Fix what has been broken, and return to the responsibilities ordained for you before the archangels took charge. It is your sacred duty to protect and serve Creation – do so, and you will have a place in my kingdom.”

 

Most left to do as he had ordered, but Mattathias lingered. Though he approached Castiel warily, the camaraderie they had shared in battle gave him confidence and the new God did not smite him for his daring.

 

“You have won the war, Castiel.” He sounded surprised, but admiring, too, and the congratulations he intended to convey were genuine. “For a time, I confess that we feared you had abandoned us. But you returned, and single-handedly you gained victory over our enemy. I am sorry for doubting you.”

 

The truth was that Castiel had not come back for the sake of winning this war; that it had occurred as a result of Raphael’s death was just what the humans would call an ‘added bonus’. He could care less about the state of Heaven. There was only one thing, one _person_ , he cared about right now, and every minute he spent playing God was another minute Dean spent suffering in abandonment. No longer.

 

“You held the army together while I was absent,” Castiel acknowledged. “You have done well, Mattathias. And now I must ask you to take up the mantle of leadership once more. You will be my anointed; no one will question your authority.”

 

“But, Castiel, surely you are not leaving-”

 

“My work here is finished. I have completed what I set out to do.”

 

“We still need you.”

 

Castiel looked toward the lone figure remaining out on the field of War’s End.

 

Mattathias followed his gaze, and sighed in defeat. “But Dean Winchester needs you more.”

 

ooOOoo


	5. Chapter 5

 

If he had so desired, the new God could have commanded multitudes to bow before him. Instead, it was Castiel who went to his knees by Dean’s side.

 

The hunter looked so peaceful on the surface, his features relaxed in unconsciousness. But it was just an illusion, a cruel trickery. What lay beneath was a tempest of pain and torment that would reveal itself upon his waking. If Dean ever woke. If his consciousness had not retreated so deeply within himself in an attempt to escape the torture of his existence that it could never be retrieved.

 

Since Dean’s abduction Castiel had felt anger, desperation, grief, guilt and a constant aching sorrow. But from that place of anguish he had formed a plan and working towards its execution had given him the willpower to go on.

 

Now, though… now he was afraid. He feared he was too late. He feared Dean was lost to him forever.

 

The damage was so severe, the wounds so deep. Castiel had repaired Dean’s soul once before, but although he was stronger now he could not help but feel a creeping despair that all the power in the world would not be enough.

 

Even so, there was nothing that could keep him from trying.

 

He exhaled slowly to steady himself, drawing on every ounce of calm he possessed. Then gently, so gently, Castiel reached out with his enhanced Grace-

 

Green eyes snapped open.

 

For a fraction of an instant, Castiel’s heart leapt with joy.

 

But at the sight of the angel, Dean’s body froze. He went utterly, completely still.

 

No screaming. No recoiling. No scrambling for cover. No attempts to flee.  No violent outburst. No defensive action of any kind. There was no sign of the natural fight-or-flight response that could be expected from a traumatised individual when presented with a fear stimulus.

 

Instead, Dean shut down completely. The way an animal would when it knew it was cornered with no chance of escape and its last, desperate hope was to go unnoticed.

 

Dean was terrified. Of _Cas._

 

“Dean.” There was no recognition there, no indication that he knew who Castiel was or what they meant to each other. “Dean, it’s okay. It’s me.”

 

If anything, Dean shrank in on himself further, trying to appear as small and insignificant as possible.

 

“Do not be afraid. Please, Dean…”

 

This was not the reunion Cas had hoped for - prayed for, even, when his need to have Dean returned to him safe and whole overrode his loss of faith in his Father. Dean was supposed to punch him, or hug him, or ask for pie. Never in his worst imaginings had Castiel believed Dean would be this far gone.

 

“Dean…” His voice wavered, cracked. He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing he could say.

 

He tried to reach out with his Grace again, needing to fix this somehow.

 

At the first, delicate brush of his power against Dean’s soul he finally got a response – Dean jerked back and a howl tore from his throat.

 

Castiel’s Grace flinched back, and it was his hands reaching out instead, trying to sooth, to comfort. “No, Dean, it’s okay, I won’t hurt you-”

 

Dean kept screaming, hoarse and hysterical, his body curling into a tight ball to defend against attack.

 

Castiel didn’t know what to do. It was clear Dean didn’t feel safe. He wasn’t going to let Castiel help him or even get anywhere close.

 

So Castiel did the only thing he could. With a small burst of power he transported both himself and Dean from Heaven down to the one place on Earth Dean had ever really considered home.

 

“Sam! Bobby! I require assistance!”

 

He heard Sam’s curse and the stomp of Bobby’s footfalls before the older hunter appeared in the doorway of his kitchen, scowl in place. “You got some nerve askin’ for- Oh my god.”

 

“You can still call me Castiel,” Cas said absently, his attention still fixed on Dean. He had not made any attempt to uncurl from the foetal position or even glance up for a second to take in his new surroundings. Nor had he responded to the sound of Bobby’s voice, which now dropped markedly lower.

 

“Sam, you had better get in here.”

 

“I’m not interested in-” Sam halted in his tracks. He stared at his brother in disbelief. “D-dean?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Sam stumbled forward. “Dean?”

 

Wary of Sam making matters worse, Castiel tried to head him off. “Sam, I must warn you-”

 

Sam ignored him. He might not have even heard him, so focused he was on his brother. “Dean, hey, hey. It’s me. It’s Sammy.” He crouched down next to the huddled figure, placing a hand on his back. Dean flinched at the touch but Sam didn’t pull away. “I’m right here, Dean. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

 

Castiel saw the pain in Sam’s eyes and he realised that Sam had been able to tell at the first glance that Dean was not alright. He knew. Castiel didn’t have to tell him what had happened or how Dean had been acting since he woke. Sam knew his brother in a way that no one else did.

 

And he was able to get through to Dean in a way that no one else ever could.

 

Castiel watched in awe (and with no small degree of envy) as Dean began to settle beneath Sam’s hand, tension slipping away from his body at the low, soothing cadence of his brother’s voice.

 

“That’s it, Dean, easy… take it slow. I’m here, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Dean began to shake and the sound of his unsteady breathing became roughened with sobs. Sam didn’t hesitate, gathering Dean into his arms as the dam broke.

 

Castiel stood awkwardly, helplessly on the sidelines while Sam did what he could not. He held his brother tightly, grounding him, engulfing him in warmth and protection, surrounding him in love. He continued to murmur soothing words of comfort, letting Dean’s tears soak into his shirt until gradually the raw emotion faded and fatigue crept over him, lulling him to sleep.

 

Only then did Sam look up at Castiel, and though his words were quiet his eyes blazed fire. “What happened, Castiel?”

 

It sounded like an accusation and the new God bristled. “I saved your brother, as I promised I would.”

 

“Saved?” Sam looked down at the wreck of a man who lay cradled in his lap. “Does Dean look ‘saved’ to you?”

 

“I have rescued him from Raphael’s clutches and returned him home. What more do you want from me?”

 

“I want to know why you are covered in blood. I want to know why my brother is terrified of you. I want to know how you found him and where he was. I want to know what has been done to him, and what you are going to do to fix it!”

 

Castiel looked down at his clothes, noticing the stains for the first time. He blinked and his apparel returned to pristine condition.

 

“Answer me, Castiel, or so help me god-”

 

“What do you think I have been doing?”

 

“What?”

 

“You asked what has transpired. Raphael was reluctant to reveal Dean’s location, but once I brought enough power to bear he gave in swiftly. After he retrieved Dean from Limbo, I killed Raphael and purged Heaven of his followers. Then I brought Dean here.”

 

“Wait a minute, slow down,” Bobby said. “Limbo – as in the place souls go when they don’t belong in Heaven or Hell?”

 

“Raphael described it as the void between worlds. I was not aware of its existence, but Archangels are privy to much information that seraphs are not. Somehow Raphael must have found a way to access it and he imprisoned Dean there.”

 

 Sam tensed. “For how long?”

 

He knew what Sam was referring to – the passage of time in Hell was much faster than on Earth, and it was possible the same was true of Limbo. If that were so, the months Dean had been missing could have translated into years, or decades, or millennia. “I… I do not know.”

 

“Too damn long, if the state of him is anything to go by,” Bobby said. “That kid is as tough as nails – I hate to think what Raphael must have done to reduce him to this…”

 

“He tortured Dean’s soul,” Castiel stated flatly. Remembering the terrible damage that had been inflicted, he suddenly regretted killing the archangel with such haste. His death should have been slow and painful. “Death was too good for that bastard.”

 

“How did you kill him, by the way?” Bobby asked. “Last I checked, Raphael’s mojo was stronger than yours.”

 

“I did what I had to.”

 

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

 

Castiel drew himself up. “I became God.”

 

Sam and Bobby stared at him. “Come again?”

 

“I found and absorbed a previously untapped power source. There is none on Earth or in Heaven who can rival my power now.”

 

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of power source?”

 

Castiel did not feel inclined to answer the question and he was beginning to feel irked that he seemed to be facing an inquisition instead of receiving the reverence he was due.

 

“Souls?” Bobby guessed when no information was forthcoming. “They seem to be all the rage at the moment. I remember you touched my soul to juice you up a bit once, but I’m guessing it would take a hell of a lot more than that to best an archangel. What did you do, raid Heaven?”

 

Castiel resented the assumption that he would disturb the souls at rest in paradise. “Of course not.”

 

“But you don’t deny that you are using souls. Which means you got them from Hell, or-”

 

“-Purgatory,” Sam concluded. “I’m right, aren’t I? Crowley wasn’t looking for Purgatory for the real estate. He was after the souls. You were _both_ after the souls. You were working with him all along.”

 

“What does it matter? Crowley is dead now and my possession of the souls enabled me to rescue your brother.”

 

“You lied to us. You went behind our backs. You were working with a demon! None of that is okay, Castiel.”

 

“I did it to save Dean.”

 

“You’ve been planning this all year! Dean had nothing to do with it, except maybe that his abduction was a minor setback to your plans. You just wanted the power.”

 

“Yes, maybe at first my motivation was centred on defeating Raphael. But if this was about power I would be up in Heaven right now giving orders or out establishing my dominion over the Earth, not standing here listening to you pass judgement on me. Whatever you think of my methods, I did what was necessary to rescue your brother. And I will do whatever I can to restore him.”

 

“You said his soul has been damaged?” Bobby asked.

 

 “Yes. Much like yours, Sam.” Only, Dean’s looked less like it had been batted about like a plaything and more like it had been systematically torn apart.

 

“Well, I’m doing alright with the wall thing in my head,” Sam said. “So maybe we can do the same for Dean.”

 

“I am afraid it is not that simple. Dean does not have memories of being tortured, his memories _have_ been tortured. Everything that makes Dean the man he is…” Cas trailed off, swallowing a strange lump in his throat. “Raphael was thorough.”

 

Sam’s grip tightened on his brother. “What are you trying to say? That Dean is broken beyond repair?”

 

Castiel would not admit the possibility out loud. He refused to let it be true. “I have gained significant power. There is a chance I could heal even wounds as grievous as these. But he will not let me. His soul recoiled from my touch.”

 

“If he’s as badly hurt as you say he is, of course he friggin’ didn’t want you touching him.”

 

“I was the one who raised him from perdition. He should have recognised my Grace.”

 

“With a billion monster souls all twisted up in there?”

 

Castiel frowned; Bobby’s suggestion was disturbing. “The souls are a power source. They do not change who I am.”

 

“Really? Because the Cas we know would never call himself God.”

 

“Someone had to ‘step up to the plate’. Heaven and Earth have never been in more dire need of a saviour and my Father was not going to lift a finger to help. I can change things. I can make things better.”

 

“The only thing you have to make better is Dean,” Sam snapped. Dean flinched at the sharp tone and Sam dropped his voice to a low growl to avoid waking him. “If your little nuclear reactor is preventing you from doing that then _get rid of it.”_

“That is out of the question.”

 

“Why? Because you’re an angel with delusions of grandeur on a power trip? If you really did this to save Dean then _un_ do it and _save him_!”

 

“My Grace alone will not be enough.”

 

“Are you refusing to try?”

 

Castiel was silent. Part of him was tempted to leave these insolent humans to cope with this mess on their own. They clearly disapproved of what he had done and they were yet to express any gratitude for the results he had obtained thus far. Lesser mortals should be bowing before him, not giving him orders.

 

He geared up to deliver a scathing reply, but Sam spoke before he could. His words were soft.

 

“Cas… please. He’s my brother. If we… if Dean ever meant anything to you… No, I know he does. I know you care about him. That’s why Raphael took him in the first place and if you leave him like this then you are letting that bastard win. Do what you set out to do. Save Dean Winchester.”

 

Castiel stared down at the human he had once sacrificed everything for.

 

And he realised he would do it again.

 

ooOOoo


	6. Chapter 6

The T.V was playing silently in the background, repeating a news article about the ‘impossible’ second eclipse that had occurred in as many days. Until that point Sam had not been paying much attention to the images that flashed across the screen, too preoccupied with watching over his brother who was curled up in the corner of the room, sleeping uncomfortably, but after years of hunting Sam was hardwired to notice the ‘weird and unexplained’.

 

Of course, this time he knew what had caused the unnatural phenomenon. Cas had told them about the ritual he had performed to pop open purgatory and explained that he would require similar conditions to return the souls he had taken. Sam could hardly believe that Cas had the juice to meddle with planetary alignment without wiping out life on Earth, but the eclipse had been and gone which had to mean that the little nerd angel had somehow pulled it off.

 

It occurred to Sam that Cas really had gained god-like power. Insulting and yelling at him probably hadn’t been such a good idea, but then again the Winchesters did have a habit of pissing off the most powerful supernatural creatures (not) known to mankind and somehow escaping unscathed.

 

Well, not completely unscathed. At least not this time.

 

Sam’s gaze was drawn back to Dean. His head was propped awkwardly on his knees, his arms were wrapped around his legs and he had squeezed himself into the corner as though trying to make himself as small a target as possible. Even in his sleep he was twitching and jerking, tormented by things unseen.

 

Sam had never seen his brother like this, not even after he had spent 40 years in Hell. He had been jumpy, he’d had nightmares almost every night and he had fallen into the bottom of any bottle he could get his hands on, but he had still been able to function. He was still _Dean._

Looking at him now, he was hardly recognisable as Sam’s big brother. Physically he was fine. There were no injuries, no scars, no outward signs that he had been hurt. But Dean was the stoic, bury-all-your-crap-down-so-deep-it-never-sees-light-of-day, face-your-demons-head-on, no chick flick moments, single man tear sort of guy. Sam had cried in his brother’s arms more times than he could remember (according to Bobby, Dean was the only one who could ever get him to stop crying when he was little) but when Dean was upset he became closed off and distant, refusing to let Sam so much as touch him as though even the slightest gesture of comfort would break the dam he had so carefully constructed over the years.

 

When Dean had collapsed willingly into his arms it had shocked Sam to his core. He had held on tight to his brother, left reeling by the reversal of roles, feeling his heart get ripped to shreds as he listened to gut-wrenching sobs and realised that the Dean he knew was all but gone.

 

Dean’s only hope was Cas and the angel was the one who had gotten Dean into this mess in the first place.

 

Sam knew he should be grateful that Cas had rescued his brother, and the logical part of his brain knew that it was really Raphael who was to blame for Dean’s condition, but with the archangel dead Sam found that all of his rage and grief and frustration was focused on Cas.

 

Cas had lied to them. Cas had teamed up with Crowley. Cas was the reason that Dean had been targeted. Cas had continued the fight against Raphael when his surrender could have spared Dean’s life. And now Cas was taking his sweet time getting back here.

 

“Cas, where the hell are you?” Sam muttered angrily.

 

Just then, the front door slammed open and there was a loud thud.

 

Dean jerked awake, eyes blown wide with terror. He looked ready to bolt.

 

“No, no, shh, Dean it’s alright, it’s just Cas. It’s Cas.” Holding up placating hands to his brother, Sam kept his voice deceptively calm as he called over his shoulder, “Cas, that you?”

 

“It’s Cas,” Bobby returned. “He don’t look good, though.”

 

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam soothed. “Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

 

Terrified green eyes tracked him as he backed out of the room. Sam joined Bobby in the hall and found Cas crumpled in a heap just inside the doorway.

 

“Is he-”

 

“No pulse,” Bobby said gravely, kneeling over him to check. “And he’s not breathing.”

 

“Do – do angels breathe? Do they need to – Bobby, he can’t be dead. We need him – _Dean_ needs him. Without Cas Dean doesn’t stand a chance-”

 

Cas lurched upright with a gasp. “Dean!”

 

Bobby jerked back in shock and landed on his ass. “Balls! God, you gave me a fright.”

 

Cas looked to him, seeming disoriented for a moment before he croaked out, “You do not have to call me that anymore. The souls are gone.”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“I am fine. Where is-” Cas tried to stand and immediately stumbled; Sam caught his arm on reflex.

 

“Whoa. Cas-”

 

“Where is Dean?”

 

“He’s – are you okay?”

 

Cas glared at him, trying to shrug off his hand. “Do not concern yourself; I will keep my promise to help your brother.”

 

Sam felt a flash of guilt. “Okay, but hold up a second. I think you should – you look like you need to rest for a minute, get your strength back.”

 

“I will not allow Dean to suffer a moment longer than he has to.”

 

His tone was sharp but Sam could hear the raw emotion underneath and it left him stunned. All this time he had been focused on Dean, he never stopped to think about what Cas was going through.

 

Raphael had taken Dean to get to Cas. To hurt him. To cripple him. Torturing Dean was just a means to an end. Raphael didn’t care two wits about any human – if he wanted revenge for the disruption of the prize fight between Lucifer and Michael he could have taken Sam, but he chose Dean because somehow he knew that Dean’s pain would hurt Cas far more than anything he could do to him directly.

 

_Dean and I do share a more profound bond._

 

“Shit. You could feel it, couldn’t you? When Raphael was hurting my brother.”

 

“He prayed to me,” Cas answered stiffly. “Even when he had no words I could hear him. His soul was screaming, bleeding, crying out for help and there was _nothing I could do._ ”

 

His words were laden with anger and grief and guilt and an agony Sam understood all too well. He had felt it when Dean had gone to Hell for him. The pain of being forcibly separated from someone you love, the helplessness of not being able to reach them, the horror of knowing that they were experiencing unspeakable torment and it was all your fault.

 

“You saved him, Cas,” Sam said quietly.

 

“Did I?”

 

“He’s here. He’s safe. Raphael can’t hurt him anymore. And you know what? The world isn’t ending either. You stopped the apocalypse and you brought Dean back to us. That’s a hell of a lot.”

 

“It’s not good enough.”

 

“I want Dean back, too. But you won’t be any help to him like this. You can barely even stand up straight.”

 

Cas looked at him strangely.

 

“What?”

 

“I have not yet earned it but… I detect a hint of forgiveness.”

 

Sam shrugged. “Dean’s my weakness too, and god knows the bad guys have used him against me more than once. I shouldn’t have blamed you.”

 

Tension eased from the angel’s eyes. He gave a slight nod. “I think sitting down for a few moments would be a good idea.”

 

Sam squeezed his arm and guided him to a chair in the kitchen. The angel sank down gratefully, looking more worn out than Sam had ever seen him.

 

“Are you going to be able to do this?”

 

Cas sighed. “I don’t know, Sam.” He dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m strong enough. Raphael was an _archangel,_ and I’m just… I’m nothing.”

 

“You held your own against him for almost a year.”

 

“With the souls Crowley loaned me,” Cas confessed. “Those are gone now as well. All that is left is…”

 

“You,” Sam said. “Cas, you saved my brother from Hell and you didn’t need any soul juice to do it.”

 

“But-”

 

“Look, man, I get it. When I got hooked on demon blood it made me feel powerful, and after a while I didn’t think I could do my job without it. But I could. I do. Sometimes it feels like the hard way, but I get it done. And so will you.”

 

“After what I did… you still have faith in me.”

 

Sam smiled a little. “I guess Dean has been a bad influence.” At the thought of his brother, huddled defensively in the other room, he sobered. “But I do know there’s a chance it won’t work out. If that happens, if you can’t save him… just know, my brother would be grateful you tried. And I’m grateful that you got him this far.”

 

Cas looked down at the floor. “You know I could never have abandoned him.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And I won’t,” he added fiercely. “If it takes months, or years, or a lifetime. I will not leave Dean trapped in that hellhole, hurting and alone. I will not forsake him again.”

 

Resolve drove Cas to his feet and all of a sudden he seemed perfectly steady.

 

“What are you going to do?” Sam asked.

 

Cas bore the face of a man going to war. “I’m going in.”

 

ooOOoo


	7. Chapter 7

_Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud._

 

Loud. Pounding in his ears. Drowning out everything. Painful but comforting.

 

Flashes of colour. Hazy, unfocused. Too bright.

 

Dry mouth. Scratchy throat. Voiceless, unable to even scream.

 

Rough scrape of fabric. Sting of cool air. Hard surface pressed against his back. But unbound.

 

He should be running, far and fast. She was never gone long.

 

Only, the smell that enveloped him was somehow familiar. _Safe._

 

Home?

 

Something was missing. It was here before but there was a thud, out of rhythm, louder, _threat,_ and it left him. Alone. Forever?

 

Bad. _Bad!_ Did something wrong. Didn’t mean to, too late. Gone. Punish, punished. Deserving. Never come back. Maybe never there, all in his head, cruel trick.

 

Thump back against the wall, once, twice, harder. Bright red, jagged, blinding. Pain, better, normal. Punish self, she won’t have to. Spare him a little longer.

 

“-ean. _Dean! Stop!”_

The next thump was muffled, cushioned. A calloused hand cradling the back of his head, taking the punishment. Not holding him in place, restraining, pinning him down, but protecting.

 

The red haze cleared, revealing twin points of clear blue gazing at him.

 

“Dean.” Deep, gravelly. Too much in that single word. Heavy with meaning.

 

 _Dean?_ He frowned, uncertain. He should know.

 

“I’m not sure he can understand us, Cas.”

 

Cas. _Cas._

 

His heartbeat. _Thud-thud. Cas-Cas._ But a – a name. Cas.

 

His lips formed the word, guided by sense memory. No sound came out, but maybe it didn’t have to because there was a crinkling around the blue and the gravel replied “Cas. Yes.”

 

A name. His name.

 

Cas.

 

“Do you remember me?”

 

Slowly, Dean shook his head.

 

“Are you afraid?”

 

Always. But not… not now.

 

Cas.

 

“Dean, I want to help you. Will you let me?”

 

He moved back, and there was a flash of disappointment, but he only pressed into the palm that cradled his head, strengthening the point of contact.

 

A quiet sigh. “Okay, Dean. Good.” Fingers carded into his hair, gentle, soothing. “Let me in. Let me see.”

 

Another set of fingertips reached to press against his forehead. He kept his eyes fixed on blue and it was okay. Warm, giving off sparks so his skin buzzed beneath the touch.

 

“It will not be my intention, but this may hurt. I need to know that you trust me.”

 

Trust did not come easy. Hard won, easily lost. Did any remain? He couldn’t remember.

 

“Please, Dean.”

 

With some effort, tense muscles loosened. He drank in the sight of blue, then allowed his eyes to flutter shut.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Everything faded.

 

There was white mist all around, pressing in, smothering. He choked and sputtered, feebly trying to push it away but his flame was not hot enough, barely there at all. Flickering, almost gone.

 

He knew this place.

 

He feared this place.

 

Pain was here.

 

She was here.

 

She was coming for him.

 

Before fear could overwhelm him, a warm blue light approached through the fog. He dared to hope. Tentatively he reached for it, as he had once before, back when everything was fire and blood and thick black smoke. Back when he was a monster but salvation came for him anyway.

 

The blue light started to curl around him, suffusing him with warmth and comfort, but then he heard it.

 

Clacking heels.

 

A manicured hand reached through the mist.

 

Pure, blind panic shot through him.

 

Death and pain and blood and screams. Over and over, and over and over.

 

Never ending, starting again.

 

Only one hope, one choice.

 

He bolted, fleeing deeper into the suffocating sea of endless white, leaving the blue far, far behind.

 

ooOOoo


	8. Chapter 8

The landscape of Dean’s mind had changed.

 

Once a plethora of thoughts, emotions, memories and dreams swirling together in a whirlwind of colour and activity, this vast expanse of white mist was a shocking contrast.

 

Everything was gone. Smothered.

 

This was worse than Cas could have ever imagined. Healing was one thing. Replacing what was lost… he didn’t know if it was even possible.

 

But Dean’s soul had recognised him. Cas clung to that knowledge. Dean might have fled, but at least this time he wasn’t running from Cas.

 

He was running from an archangel who couldn’t hurt him anymore.

 

Raphael was dead, but Dean’s subconscious didn’t seem to realise that. He was still afraid, still haunted.

 

Somehow Cas had to find a way to convince Dean that he was safe.

 

Of course, he had to find Dean first.

 

The mist obscured everything. Cas had no landmarks to guide him, no sense of direction, no idea which way he needed to go. Going in blind, it could be eons before he caught up with Dean. But it would take even longer if he never got started so, pushing away his doubts, Cas stepped forward.

 

Three paces in, he tripped.

 

_“Dean, take your brother outs-”_

_“-wanna be a rockstar-”_

_“-nurses aren’t even hot-”_

_“-go, Dean, now-”_

_“SAM!”_

_“-watching over you-”_

_“-take you off the rack if-”_

_“-want the prize?”_

Cas staggered, sharp images slashing across his vision and deafening voices assaulting his ears.

 

The whiteness returned.

 

Castiel’s breath sounded loud and harsh in the sudden silence as he struggled to get his bearings again.

 

Those had been… those were memories. Dean’s memories. Not lost after all, but shattered like glass with the fragments strewn across this barren landscape, all cloaked in thick white fog.

 

The extent of the damage was devastating, but Cas chose to see this revelation as cause for hope. The pieces of Dean’s soul were still in here. He would find a way to put them back together. Dean would be okay.

 

With renewed determination, Cas pressed onwards.

 

_“-do you want to meet your new little brother?”_

Cas caught a glimpse of wide green eyes framed by long lashes. They peered into a bundle of cloth that was cradled in Mary Winchester’s arms.

 

A small button nose crinkled. _“He’s all wrinkly.”_

 

Her laugh sounded like bells. _“Give it time, sweetheart. He’ll be as handsome as you some day.”_

 

Dean frowned dubiously at the infant. A spot of red landed on the pudgy cheek.

 

_“Mom?”_

 

He glanced up at his mother.

 

Her face was pulled wide in a silent scream. Blood dripped from a gaping wound in her stomach.

 

Cas lurched forward. “No, Dean, don’t look-”

 

But before he could cover the child’s eyes he watched his mother burst into flames.

 

A heart-wrenching cry tore from Dean’s lips. It ripped apart the scene and white mist flooded in.

 

Cas found himself once again surrounded by nothing, his arm futilely outstretched. The child was long gone.

 

Grief was followed by a hot flash of anger. That was supposed to be a happy moment from Dean’s childhood and it had turned into a nightmare. It didn’t matter that both memories were technically his own; by splicing the two together, what should have been a safe sanctuary in Dean’s mind – one of too few – had become a source of fear and pain.

 

Raphael had done this. Not content to hurt Dean physically, he had delved into his mind and turned his life – what he remembered of his life – into a living hell.

 

Cas saw the mist in a new light. This was Dean’s way of coping. Trying to escape, trying not to remember these twisted mutations. Forgetting everything had to be less painful than trying to be the person he was with everything shattered and broken within him.

 

But he remembered the fear. He was still running, and he would always be running unless Cas found some way to fix this.

 

Unfortunately, he had no idea where to start.

 

_“-how about some pie?”_

_“-don’t you ever talk about Mom, ever!”_

_“-today you’re going to throw a ball around, just like a regular snot-nosed little-”_

_“-what are you calling me a jerk for?”_

_“-then let it end!”_

Cas reeled back, stunned by the weight of emotion that had slammed into him from that one tiny fragment of memory. A glimpse had been enough; he saw Sam’s dead body laid out and he knew what had happened, of course he knew. The Righteous Man sold his soul for his brother. Every angel knew that. But Cas had never _felt_ it. The grief, the _self-loathing._ The molten rage of a man who wanted to avenge his brother. The overwhelming desire to just lay down and die alongside him. The inability to keep breathing, to function, to think. Dean had been drowning. He didn’t make the deal to be a hero, he did it because he had no other choice, because it was the only thing he _could_ do.

 

_“Watch out for Sammy.”_

This was a Dean Winchester before Cas had known him, the man untouched by Hell. But Cas understood now; Hell had no fear for him. Nothing, _nothing_ , could be worse than losing Sam.

What Cas would give to be loved so much.

 

Cas waded through the mist, trying not to be pulled into the memories that crashed like lightning around him. There was so much pain here. So many nights spent in terror of the monsters that lurked in the darkness, so many sharp words from a man trying to raise his son to be a soldier, so many lonely days when no one bothered to befriend the new kid who would be gone in a few weeks anyway, so many empty motel rooms, so many wounds haphazardly stitched together, so many times when Death came knocking, so many loved ones lost.

 

Cas had pulled Dean from the Pit, but no one had been there to save the little boy who lost his mother.

 

It was becoming hard to see how Dean could have ever been happy. Where, in all of this darkness, was a reason for Dean to smile, or to laugh?

 

Cas stopped suddenly.

 

He remembered Dean laughing.

 

It had come as a shock because Sam had walked out on him and he had seen first-hand what happened to an archangel’s vessel once they were discarded and Cas was taking him on his suicide mission to find Raphael and they had gone out for one night of revelry only to have it cut short by Cas saying the wrong thing to the girl who was trying to take his virginity… Dean should have been mad. He had tried to have a night off from the Apocalypse and Cas had ruined his fun.

 

But instead Dean had laughed, long and loud and hard, practically doubled over like it was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him.

 

Cas hadn’t really understood what was going on at the time, but somehow, despite their seemingly hopeless situation, Dean had found a break in the storm. He had found joy in that simple moment and it had been enough for him.

 

That memory had to be in here somewhere. Chances are that it was as broken and fragmented as the rest of them, but that was okay.

 

Cas had a plan.


	9. Chapter 9

Sifting through a lifetime of memories was no simple task. Usually they were at least sorted chronologically, with the most recent at the forefront and the most important in sharper definition, with links between related events, but Dean’s mind was in chaos.

 

There was no quick route for Cas to take to get to where he needed to go; he had to slug through the hard way. He tried to heal some of the damage as he went along, but the problem was that these were not his memories. He didn’t know which of the broken pieces belonged together. He could hazard a guess with some, and he could place others in a vague order based on how old Dean seemed to be, but if he tried to bond the fragments with his Grace and they turned out to be mismatched he could cause almost as much damage as Raphael had.

 

He needed a baseline; a concrete memory to form the foundation for the re-construction process. He had something in mind, but the trick would be finding all the pieces that had been scattered to the wind.

 

_“-you are my little angel-”_

_“-angels are watching over you-”_

_“-she was wrong. There was nothing protecting her. There’s no higher power, there’s no god. There’s just chaos and violence and random unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere and rips you to shreds.”_

_“-I don’t have to answer to puppy chow. Stick him, boy.”_

_Hellhounds. Fear and pain and Sammy’s desperate screams in the background until all he could hear was the gurgling of blood and the rattle of his final breath._

Hell.

 

Virtually everything else had been destroyed, but 40 years of Hell memories had been left relatively untouched. Raphael was more interested in mind games and psychological torment than physical torture, but he had ensured that if Dean remembered anything clearly it would be the agony he endured at Alastair’s hand.

Cas struggled to keep a lid on his anger. He wanted to go back in time and use his god-like power to kill Raphael over and over and over again in the most painful ways possible. In fact, he was tempted to drag Michael out of the pit and give him the same treatment for giving Cas the order to rescue Dean _forty damn years too late._

No wonder Dean hadn’t believed him when he said he was an angel of the Lord. For all that they were supposed to be guardians of the Earth, the angels hadn’t lifted a finger to help one of humanity’s greatest defenders until it suited _their_ purposes. Despite his mother’s prayers, they had allowed Dean to be ripped to bloody shreds. Despite Dean’s righteous heart and noble self-sacrifice, they had allowed him to suffer _decades_ of torture until it _broke him._

 

No wonder Dean had no faith.

 

Except… slowly, gradually, Dean had learned to have faith. Not in God, or heaven, or angels, but in _Cas._

 

Cas didn’t feel he deserved it, but he was determined to earn it now.

 

_“-you’re just a sad, lonely little kid-”_

_“-they don’t need you, not like you need them-”_

_“-everybody leaves you, Dean-”_

_“-maybe it’s best if we just… go our separate ways.”_

Close! So close. Cas remembered turning up in Dean’s motel room and asking where his brother was. “ _Me and Sam are taking separate vacations for a while_ ,” Dean had said. He hadn’t been happy about it and the absence of his brother had hung like a shadow over him, but there had been moments between them where Dean’s expression had suggested amusement, fondness… even trace amounts of happiness, like he was actually enjoying Castiel’s company, and something else Cas could not quite define.

 

_“-well, last night on earth. What, uh what are your plans?”_

 

Last night on Earth. Having waded through Dean’s memories, Cas had witnessed this phrase in use on two different occasions. The first had been from Dean to Jo shortly before their mission to kill the Devil, and her response had suggested he had attempted to use it as a ‘pick-up’ line (Raphael had spliced this memory with hellhounds inflicting a mortal wound that swiftly claimed Jo’s life, as well as her mother’s when she chose to die at her side). The second had been from Anna to Dean and Cas had very deliberately _not_ paid attention when they started to kiss (though the memory soon skipped to Anna trying to kill Dean’s parents which had rather severely changed Dean’s opinion of her). In light of these revelations, Cas was not sure what to make of Dean’s comment to _him_ , especially when it was followed by _“There are two things that I know for certain. One. Bert and Ernie are gay. Two. You are not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch.”_

 

But that wasn’t the issue at hand. Cas was looking for a memory, a strong, happy memory. Laughing, Dean laughing…

 

_“-Cas! His name’s Cas.”_

There!

 

Cas grasped the memory. It was bizarre seeing his own face from an outside perspective, and it was embarrassing to see how panicked he had looked as he gulped down that beer. But Dean had been positively _buzzing_ with amusement, overjoyed to be ‘wingman’ to an angel who literally had wings (Dean hadn’t voiced the pun out loud but it had him laughing internally). He had taken far too much pleasure in Castiel’s obvious discomfort, but the point was that he was _happy._ And any minute now he would be laughing harder than he had in years-

 

_“Where the hell have you been?”_

No, he was supposed to say ‘What the hell did you do?’

 

“ _-on a bender-”_

Of course. The memory had been mutilated like all the rest, but why had Raphael chosen this to pair it with?

 

_“-poor example of one-”_

 

To be honest, Cas did not remember much of what had transpired while he was drunk. It had been a moment of weakness; confronted with the reality of a Father who had long since abandoned them and no longer cared, Cas had been filled with self-pity and had attempted to ‘drown his sorrows’. He had never intended for the Winchesters to be witness to his inebriation, but he could never have imagined the impact it would have on Dean.

 

Dean thought Cas had given up. He thought Cas believed their situation was hopeless. He thought this was the end, they were out of options, God was their last hope and now there was nothing that could prevent the apocalypse. He thought Cas expected him to fail, the way he had with the first seal and the last.

 

Dean had barely been holding on before, but that had been the tipping point.

_“-maybe they wrongly assume Dean would be brave enough to withstand them-”_

_“-I rebelled for THIS? I gave everything for you, and this is what you give to me?”_

_“Sorry, Dean. I don’t have the same faith in you that Sam does.”_

Cas flinched. He remembered saying those words, and at the time he had meant every modicum of insult, disappointment and disgust that the words conveyed – because when Cas had lost faith in his Father he chose to believe in Dean instead, only to have Dean throw his trust and sacrifice back in his face by surrendering to Michael and dooming half the planet – but he had not realised how brutally his words had torn into Dean. He could feel it now, though. The Dean he had pulled from Hell did not believe he deserved to be saved, but meeting an angel who believed differently had almost managed to convince Dean otherwise. Tentatively, Dean had begun to develop a small feeling of self-worth, bolstered by his friendship with an incredibly powerful celestial being who inexplicably thought _he_ could save the world.

 

Cas had known their bond was unique, but he didn’t realise that Dean had never really had a true friend before he came along. He never understood how much power that gave him to _hurt_ , to wound, but suddenly his opinion mattered and what he said had cut deep. Though Dean had hidden his reaction well, this memory was steeped in regret, self-loathing and an overwhelming feeling of worthlessness.

 

_Sam shouldn’t have brought me here._

_Cas should never have pulled me from that Pit._

_I belonged there._

_Cas thought I was strong enough to be some kind of hero, but now he knows the truth. He knows just how weak and pathetic I am._

_He doesn’t even care what happens to me._

_Michael is going to use me up until I’m a burned-out husk, and all Cas will think is ‘good riddance’._

_He betrayed Heaven for me. He gave up his home, his family, his station, his power because I asked him to, and I let him down._

_Oh god, he hates me._

_I’ve ruined everything._

But Dean hadn’t let him down. Castiel’s faith hadn’t been misplaced after all. The trouble was that Dean didn’t remember their reconciliation. Because Raphael hadn’t just set out to hurt Dean. He wanted to hurt Cas. He wanted to ruin them.

 

Grimly determined, Cas severed the positive memory from the negative ones. All would have to find their place eventually, but for now he had a mission to complete.

 

He renewed his search.

 

The undertaking was not pleasant. Every glimmer of happiness Cas gathered was partnered with a memory he would rather not revisit. Fights and arguments, harsh words and cold silences, times when Dean had called and Cas had not answered, disappointments and distrust.

 

_“How did Crowley get away? I mean it’s not like Cas to make mistakes like that. Unless-”_

_“Unless what?”_

_“Unless he meant to.”_

_“Bobby, this is Cas we’re talking about. Do you believe this? Sam?”_

_“Look, it’s probably nothing, it’s just- you know, you’re right, it’s probably nothing.”_

 

_“What if it ain’t nothing? We can’t just ignore the possibility-”_

_“That Cas has jumped into bed with Crowley? You can’t be serious.”_

_“I wish I weren’t.”_

_“This is un-fricken-believable. After everything Cas has done for us-”_

_“Dean, don’t you think that Cas has been a little… off lately?”_

_“He’s fighting a war. He’s distracted.”_

_“Yeah, about that. Raphael is an archangel who can kill with a snap of his fingers. He already killed Cas once; what is stopping him from doing it again? Where the hell did Cas get the kind of juice to hold his own against a power like that?”_

_“I don’t – that’s not the point!”_

_“I think it is. Imagine it – you’re up against an archangel and his army, you’ve got little-to-no power on your side, and you happen to know an ex-crossroads demon with all the power of Hell at his disposal.”_

_“Cas wouldn’t make a deal. He wouldn’t do that! If Cas needed help he would have come to me.”_

_“You retired from hunting. Cas wouldn’t want to drag you back in any more than Sam or I did.”_

 

In that instant, a tendril of doubt snaked under Dean’s armour. The absolute faith he had in Cas wavered. He considered that maybe, just maybe, there might be some truth to what they were saying.

 

He thought there was a chance that Cas had betrayed him.

 

And he was right.

 

Raphael had taken Dean before they could fix this. Betrayal was followed by cruel abandonment. In his last days of coherence, Dean had believed that Cas had left him there to die.

 

The pain struck Cas anew, staggering him. Worse, so much worse, than the knowledge that Dean had been taken from him to be tortured and killed, was the realisation that Cas had already been losing Dean before Raphael laid so much as a finger on him. Cracks had formed in the foundation of their friendship, and it was Castiel’s fault.

 

An all-consuming dread filled him as he was confronted by the very real possibility that even if he did heal his soul, Dean could be lost to him forever. Once he woke up and remembered everything that had happened, he might never want to see Cas again. He could send him away.

 

What would Cas do? Return to Heaven?  He didn’t want to go back there. He wanted to stay here. He wanted to stay with Dean. He hadn’t suffered through this entire ordeal only to be denied the one thing he wanted most.

 

Cas held the memory in his hand, and he had an awful idea.

 

He could erase it.

 

Dean would never know. Sam and Bobby would accept the memory loss as damage that Cas simply couldn’t fix.

 

Dean would see Cas as his saviour. Cas would not need to fear rejection. They could move forward, their bond stronger than ever.

 

But if he did that, he would be no better than the monster who had mangled Dean’s soul.

 

He had meant what he said.

 

He would save Dean, no matter the cost.


	10. Chapter 10

Harsh breaths. Cold air searing his lungs. Legs burning. Tripping and stumbling. Can’t see. So tired.

 

Can’t stop.

 

Can’t hide.

 

No one left to save him. Mom was burning. Dad lay dead on the floor. Bobby had been stabbed. Cas had exploded. Sammy was dead, dying, again, again, blood and dead eyes, falling, gone.

 

No one to hide behind, no sanctuaries left.

 

Had to keep running.

 

Only ever a few steps ahead. She was closing in.

 

Once she caught him the pain would start.

 

The pain had never stopped.

 

She wouldn’t let him go. She wouldn’t put him out of his misery. She wouldn’t grant the mercy of a quick death.

 

She didn’t get tired. She could do this forever.

 

He couldn’t last that long.

 

Tears burning in his eyes, he tried to hold out a little longer.

 

But when he tripped and fell for the hundredth time, he couldn’t get up again.

 

Clacking heels, getting closer, slowing to a stop. A looming presence over him. Breath ghosting over his skin.

 

_“And so the hunter becomes the hunted, and the lion becomes the sacrificial lamb. How does it feel, Dean Winchester?”_

He didn’t answer. He had no words left.

 

_“No wit, no humour, no insults, no false bravado? You truly are a burned-out husk of the man Castiel once held in such esteem. If he could see you now his pain would be… exquisite.”_

Dean lay there, limp, helpless, hopeless. He could barely muster enough energy to tremble, let alone scream the way he knew she would soon want him to. He was done.

 

_“You do not provide as much amusement as you once did. Pity. I thought Heaven’s Righteous Man would have more stamina.”_

Hell had broken him in thirty years. He didn’t know how long it had taken this time. He didn’t care. Everything had been taken from him. What reason did he have to be strong? He just wanted it to be over.

 

_“I have little use for a broken toy. I think perhaps I will leave your dead, mutilated body somewhere for Castiel to find. I only wish he could be here to watch.”_

“I am here, Raphael.”

 

Dean’s eyes snapped open. He knew that voice.

 

A smile spread across the tormentor’s face. She rose smoothly to face the newcomer. _“Castiel! I am so pleased you could join us. Killing your pet will bring far more enjoyment with an emotional audience.”_

“You will not kill him, Raphael. You have no power here.”

 

A heeled shoe dug into Dean’s chest. _“I have all the power.”_

“Because Dean thinks you are real. But she isn’t, Dean. Raphael is dead.”

 

Dean could feel the pressure crushing his lungs. He knew she was real.

 

_“I think you’ll find that if anyone is not real here, it is you Castiel. After all, Dean watched you die. I killed you and splattered your remains all over the prophet’s house.”_

 

Dean winced. Dead. He remembered. Cas had died for him, died so he could stop Sam, and Dean had failed. Cas died for nothing…

 

“God brought me back.”

 

Dean frowned.

 

_“Debatable. But you are still dead. Lucifer killed you, too, and he used darling Sammy to do it. Remember, Dean?”_

He remembered. Cas had exploded and Bobby’s neck had snapped and Sam had thrown himself into the Pit. They were dead, gone, all of them, everyone Dean loved, and he didn’t want to remember, he wanted to die, he just wanted to die.

 

“God _brought me back._ I brought Bobby back. I rescued Sam – or as much of him as I could, and Death did the rest. We are all alive, Dean. We’re waiting for you to come home.”

 

Home?

 

_“Dean is never coming home. Dean will never leave this place.”_

“In the real world you already have, Dean. Raphael had you trapped in Limbo but I got you out, and Raphael is dead now. I killed him myself. You have to believe me.”

 

_“Do not be fooled, Dean. Cas never cared about you. He left you here to die.”_

“I’m here, Dean. I’m _right here._ It took me longer than it should have, but I _did_ save you. I will always save you.”

 

_“Dean does not believe you. Why should he? You abandoned him. You betrayed him.”_

“Everything I did, I did for you, Dean. Some things I am not proud of, but I never meant to hurt you or betray your trust. I promise to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

 

_“Fine words, Castiel, but they mean nothing without action.”_

 

“What would you have me do, Dean? Name it. Anything.”

 

_“Fight me. A battle to the death. Let us see who Dean believes in more.”_

“Dean.”

 

“Cas…” His voice, unused for so long, was barely audible. He could only hope his angel could hear him, if it really was Cas and not some figment of his imagination. “Save me…”

 

Raphael launched at Cas, the silver glint of a sword suddenly appearing in her hand.

 

Cas deflected. The clash of metal made Dean flinch. He was going to watch his best friend die.

 

Raphael stabbed, Cas leapt back. Raphael slashed, Cas retreated. Cas swung at her, Raphael’s parry nearly took his arm off. They exchanged a furious flurry of blows and Cas came away with a bloody gash across his face.

 

“Dean! Raphael isn’t real. This is your mind, your imagination. He is only as strong as you make him. Dean-”

 

A fist caught Cas in the jaw, sending him reeling.

 

He spat out blood. “Dean-”

 

A glancing blow struck Cas in the arm, tearing through his coat. He responded with a forceful kick that connected with Raphael’s gut and did nothing to slow her down. Power flared from the archangel, shoving Cas back. Cas skidded.

 

“Dean, you have the power here! You can stop him.”

 

Raphael stalked forward and slammed a fist into Cas’s nose. The _crack_ was sickening but she gave him no chance to recover, delivering blow after blow, driving him back, away from Dean.

 

 _“You are nothing, Castiel. A worthless reject. You are not wanted in Heaven and you do not belong on Earth.”_ Her Grace slammed him to the ground. _“You have no place in the universe, no purpose.”_

 

Coated in blood but eyes blazing with blue fire, Cas stood to his feet. “Dean is my purpose! I raised him from perdition, I saved his life countless times, I have _died_ for him more than once and I _will not_ surrender him to the likes of you!”

 

Dean remembered the angel that had caused wind like a hurricane, fractured thick wood like it was a toothpick and burst through the doors in a shower of sparks. He remembered the angel that had been undeterred by shotgun rounds and hadn’t flinched at a knife to the chest. He remembered enormous black wings and blue eyes that stared directly into his soul.

 

_“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”_

He hadn’t. He still didn’t.

 

But Cas saved him anyway. Every single time. Over and over, as if waiting for the day when Dean would finally realise that he _did_ deserve to be saved, that good things _did_ happen, that someone _did_ care.

 

Dean had never quite managed to believe him. But he did believe _in_ him. And if Cas said Raphael was dead, Raphael was dead. Which meant she couldn’t hurt Cas, and she couldn’t hurt Dean.

 

Raphael moved to drive her sword directly into Castiel’s heart.

 

But Dean blinked, and the archangel was gone. At the same instant, the injuries she had appeared to inflict on Cas vanished too.

 

“Uh, hey, Cas,” Dean said awkwardly.

 

The smile that lit up his face was almost blinding. “Dean.” Cas ran over to him and pulled him to his feet, dragging him into a hug before Dean even knew what was happening.

 

“Am I imagining this?” Dean wondered aloud. He couldn’t ever remember having the angel’s arms wrapped around him this way, warm and comforting and safe and almost aggressively caring.

 

Cas pulled back. “I apologise. I know you are not fond of ‘chick flick moments’ but given the situation, I thought a reunion hug was warranted. You permit hugs after near death experiences, do you not?”

 

Dean thought _To hell with it,_ and just hugged his angel tighter. “Thanks, Cas.”

 

When they finally separated, Dean surveyed their surroundings. He knew the white mist wasn’t natural, but he also knew of the nightmares it concealed.

 

“I don’t know if I want to move from here,” Dean admitted.

 

“There is a safe place we can go. I built it as a sanctuary where you can go to regain your strength. When you are ready, we will begin the task of restoring your memories.”

 

“I’m pretty badly broken, Cas.”

 

“I know. But we’ll fix this together.”

 

Dean hesitated.

 

“Do you trust me, Dean?”

 

Castiel’s gaze was calm, steady. Patient. He wasn’t going to push. This was up to Dean.

 

“Yeah,” Dean said finally. “Yeah, I do.”


	11. Chapter 11

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Bobby observed dryly.

 

With deliberate effort, Sam stopped his restless pacing but his stress was still evident in his tense shoulders and the hand he ran through his hair. “Nine days, Bobby. Nine whole days, and _nothing._ They haven’t moved, haven’t blinked, haven’t _eaten-_ ”

 

Bobby neglected to point out that Sam had barely slept or eaten either; he knew Sam couldn’t rest easy until he had his brother back safe and sound. “I’m sure Cas’s mojo is sustaining them both just fine. Quit your worrying.”

 

He might as well have asked a Wendigo to give up cannibalism; worrying about each other was practically ingrained in Sam and Dean’s DNA. “What is taking so long?” Sam fretted. “Usually Cas can heal people with just a tap of his fingers.”

 

“Yeah, well, Raphael had Dean in his clutches for a long time – we don’t even really know how long. And it’s not like Cas is dealing with a flesh wound here. Raphael inflicted some serious damage.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Sam sighed and sank down on the couch, dropping his head into his hands. “Bobby, what if…?”

 

“Don’t think like that.”

 

“I can’t help it. Cas wasn’t even sure that he could do this and with every day that passes I’m finding it harder and harder to be optimistic about our chances here.”

 

“Cas is doing the best he can.”

 

“I know that. But what if his best isn’t enough? What if Dean is too far gone?”

 

Bobby folded his arms, frowning at the top of Sam’s head.  He didn’t like doom-saying because it was a hairs-breadth away from giving up, but he also knew the importance of being prepared for the worst. “If Cas can’t heal your brother, you are going to have to make a decision – whether you want to find some qualified professionals to look after him…”

 

Sam looked up, horror written across his features. “What, like a shrink, or a mental ward? What the hell, Bobby – no! There isn’t a single psychiatrist out there who could possibly understand Dean or what he’s been through. And a white-padded room might as well be another torture chamber for all the good it would do him.”

 

“You know what the alternative is?”

 

“If you’re asking whether I’d give up hunting to take care of my brother, I would think you know the answer.”

 

Bobby smiled a little. Of course he knew. “Well, then, Dean will be in good hands. He’ll be okay, Sam.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed reluctantly. He glanced over to the corner of the room where Cas was kneeling in front of his brother, both of them locked in some kind of deep-conscious state. “How long do you think it will be til we know?”

 

Bobby knew that Cas was one stubborn SOB. He would stick at it for as long as it took. “I don’t know, boy, but we might need to settle in for the long haul…” Bobby trailed off as he noticed Dean shift slightly under Castiel’s hand. “…or not…”

 

Sam leapt up, suddenly a bundle of nerves and energy again. “Dean!”

 

Bobby caught his sleeve. “Easy, Sam, don’t freak him out.”

 

Sam forced himself to back off, but he watched with rapt attention as his brother began to wake.

 

Dean’s body slowly unfurled from the tight, protective ball it had held for so long. His eyelids fluttered.

 

Green eyes blinked out at the world.

 

“…Cas?”

 

Sam’s breath caught at the single word. It was the first time they had heard Dean’s voice in months. It was hoarse from disuse, but it was unmistakably Dean.

 

Cas gently removed his fingers from Dean’s forehead so Dean could see him more clearly and offered a smile. “Hello, Dean.” He let his hand settle on Dean’s shoulder, an unconscious mirroring of the handprint scar he had once left there.

 

“This is becoming a habit,” Dean croaked.

 

A full, coherent sentence. Bobby dared to hope, even as Castiel’s head tilted in silent question.

 

“You saving me.”

 

“Always,” Cas promised.

 

A thousand and one words passed silently between them as they gazed at each other.

 

When Dean finally looked away, he noticed Sam and Bobby standing a few paces behind them. Only then did he seem to realise the intimate position he and Cas were in, with one of the angel’s hands still cradling the back of his head and their faces a scant few inches apart.

 

Dean flushed. “Uh, hey guys.” He made to stand to his feet but Cas rose first so he could offer a hand. Dean let the angel pull him up, and if their hands remained clasped for a couple of seconds longer than necessary, Bobby wasn’t going to comment.

 

“Dean,” Sam breathed.

 

A small smile curved Dean’s lips. “Heya, Sammy.” He spread his arms a little in invitation and Sam didn’t need to be told twice – he was across the room in two strides, engulfing his brother in an enormous bear hug. Dean held on just as tightly, ducking his face into Sam’s neck. “Hey, little brother,” he mumbled.

 

The moment stretched out for an eternity until Sam pulled back to hold Dean at arm’s length, looking carefully into his face. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah. I have one hell of a migraine, but other than that I’m good.”

 

“Do you want some painkillers?” Sam asked immediately.

 

“Nah, man-”

 

“Water? I can get you a glass of-”

 

“I’m okay, Sam.” A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t trust your headache cures anymore, remember? Ever since that time you tried to cure my first hangover with some god-awful concoction you read about in a magazine.”

 

Sam huffed a surprised laugh. “I forgot about that. Man, you were barfing for an hour.”

 

“Fun times.” It should have been sarcastic, but there was a light in Dean’s eyes. “Hey, Sam, I remembered something. The day Mom brought you home from the hospital.”

 

Sam stilled. There was a tinge of poorly disguised emotion in his voice as he replied, “Yeah?”

 

“You were all red-faced and squalling, but Mom said you’d grow up to be as handsome as me some day.” Dean looked his brother over and smirked. “Well, she was half right.”

 

“Yeah, I’m _more_ handsome,” Sam quipped.

 

“Oh you wish.” Dean’s eyes took on a faraway look. “She also said that being a family meant we’d take care of each other. She let me hold you, and I knew it’d be me and you forever, you know?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam whispered.

 

“We lost a lot of people along the way, but we gained a few, too,” Dean said. He looked around at Bobby and Cas. “I feel pretty damn lucky to have you guys looking out for me.”

 

Bobby clapped him on the back. “As I said; family don’t end in blood.”

 

“The angels have a very different definition of family,” Cas said. A small, hesitant smile curved his lips. “I like yours better. And I am honoured to be included.”

 

ooOOoo

 

 

**_[[A/N: Destiel shippers, read ahead. This is for you.]]_ **

 

 

Although Dean had insisted he was okay, Sam had been equally insistent that he should rest and recuperate. Since he had been unconscious for more than a week, Dean had opted to relax on the couch watching old movies. Sam had crashed shortly after getting Dean settled and Bobby had lugged him off to bed.

 

When Cas came to check on Dean a few hours later he turned off the sound and made room for him on the couch. “How was Heaven?”

 

“Matthias is running things very smoothly,” Cas reported, settling in at Dean’s side. “He could tell my power was gone, but surprisingly his respect for me has remained intact. He asked if I wanted the mantle of leadership returned to me.”

 

“What did you say?”

 

“My place is here.”

 

Dean nudged the angel’s shoulder fondly. “I’m glad you know it.”

 

Cas glanced sidelong at him. “You know, Dean, for someone who hates ‘chick flick moments’, you were very sentimental back there.”

 

Dean shrugged. “We dredged up a lot of old memories. Things from my childhood – memories of Mom, and Dad the way he was – that I never would have remembered on my own.”

 

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “Are you saying we changed you?”

 

“Maybe a little. But I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Mom was soft, and gentle. She always knew the right thing to say that would make things better and she gave the best hugs. She loved us and she made sure we knew it. If she rubs off on me now… I think I could be okay with that.” He glanced into blue eyes. “There are some things that I have left unsaid for too long.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Well, thanks, for one. I don’t think I ever actually thanked you for saving me from Hell. You risked your life for me.”

 

“You do not need to thank me. I was following orders.”

 

Dean leaned forward. “And this time?”

 

“Well, your brother did threaten violence against me if I didn’t find you… but I saw little point in saving the world if you weren’t in it.”

 

Dean’s lips quirked. “We do share a more ‘profound bond’.”

 

“Yes,” Cas agreed. He wished he was back in Dean’s mind; he was far more difficult to read from the outside. “But what does that mean to you?”

 

“Well, for a long time there I wasn’t sure. But that little sanctuary you made up in here,” Dean tapped his head, “with all our greatest hits playing on repeat made me realise… I’ve never had a better friend. And to be honest… I wouldn’t mind if we were more than that.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

Dean moved further into the angel’s personal space, closing the distance between them until their knees touched. “I’m saying…” He placed his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, absently smoothing a crease out of his jacket with his thumb. “I wouldn’t mind…” He slipped his other hand into Castiel’s hair, mirroring their position from earlier. “If you’ll let me, that is…” He pulled Cas in close, glancing down at the angel’s lips before running his tongue across his own. His voice was barely louder than a whisper. “I really wouldn’t mind kissing you right now.”

 

Cas had to remember how breathing worked. In, out, air, lungs, oxygen. “I wouldn’t mind that either,” he exhaled finally.

 

Dean’s eyes crinkled. “I thought you wouldn’t.”

 

Then Dean’s lips were pressed against his and Cas found a new meaning for the word ‘heaven’.

 

ooOOoo

 

 

_The End._


End file.
